


Anchors Away

by caputell



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hints at a side Larry but nothing entirely substantial, M/M, Nick Grimshaw as an Antagonist, POV Alternating, Pirate AU, Prostitution, Slow Build, Swearing, mention of asphyxiation, potential smut, zayns fear of water is in this A LOT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caputell/pseuds/caputell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is tired of his life, and decides to face his fear of the ocean in order to get away. So he stows away on a ship and plans to get off on the next dock. However, he learns too late that he has boarded a pirate ship and he isn’t going to get away that easily. Captain Liam Payne docked in an Caribbean bay, picking up a stowaway, who he makes a new cabin boy. He’s a hard worker, but Liam can’t seem to shake off this nagging familiarity between him and Zayn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Bodies Are Our Gardens, To Which Our Wills Are Gardeners

The sun was burning through the thin curtains in Zayn’s tiny room. His eyelids registered the bright sunlight and he rolled around in his bed to continue dreaming in darkness, but the straw poking through his ratted mattress forced him to reverse and lie on his back. His eyes strained open, taking a few moments to adjust to the morning sun. Looking up, he saw the ceiling that still has that rotted stain that had been there since he first took up residence in the brothel.

How many years had it been? Three? Five? However many years, it was too many. Night after night, client after client. Sweaty men and women, drunken with violence and disgustingly greedy; on many occasions a client would attempt to knock him unconscious after sex and try to steal their money back. Zayn thought to last night and shuddered. He lifted the covers to reveal dark purple bruises from where his client had dug his fingers deep into his abdomen. His fingers traced the nape of neck to find those fading bruises from another client that held a fascination for asphyxiation.

Zayn rose, sitting up in his bed and puts his head in his hands, running his nimble fingers through his dark tousled hair. There had to be something else out there for him. This couldn’t be it. He had some money, sure, but what was the point of living if he spent his whole life just barely making it by?

He lifted his feet off of the straw mattress, flattening the soles against the cold and rotted hardwood floors. He took the thin linen shirt from the floor of his room and slipped it on, which felt like a billowed cloud over his lean body. The rest of his clothes—the boots and the pants—fit much tighter, since he’d been wearing the same set for a few years now.

His eyes drifted towards the cracked window, looking out to the marvelous view of the shipyard. There, Zayn saw a new start. But there was this nagging voice in his mind that kept telling him _no, Zayn. The ocean is your enemy. All that waits is a watery death in an endless abyss. Stay here, where you have money for food and an ensured life._

Fine, he thought. That didn’t mean he couldn’t go out to the shore and closely admire the magnificent collection of ships out in the bay.

His boots pressed into the rough sand, leaving temporary prints. He thought to himself, _what if I end up like my footprints? They’re there in the sand, a mark on the earth, but one act of nature just wipes me away like I never existed. I’m not sure of what I want, but I know that I don’t want to be footprints in the sand._

In the distance, Zayn saw men running around like ants, carrying cargo to and from the ships. Tortuga was far from graceful and orderly. Between each buccaneer was a drunken mess, sprawled across sacks of potatoes or clinging onto barrels of rum.

Following the trail of hurried men, Zayn’s eyes gravitated towards the ships themselves. There were square-rigged ships, buoying in the water with their sails pulled up. Zayn saw Dutch schooners, Belgian barques, Spanish galleons and English brigs. But what caught his eye was what looked like a guineaman at the end of the bay. Was it called a guineaman? One client he had was a ship enthusiast that spent most of his money just to have Zayn indulge in his sketches. He was one of the better customers. Easy money and Zayn learned quite a bit about the different sorts of ships. This one was definitely a guineaman, one of those slave ships repurposed for trade, for it’s speed and size.

It was floating a little ways from the rest of the ships, like an outcast, like Zayn. His eyes skimmed the gorgeous oak keels and the rich pine masts, chipped and scratched from light warfare. Where could this gorgeous ship take him? Anywhere in the world, he didn’t care. Anywhere would be loads better than Tortuga.

But there was still one thing.

Almost instinctively, he looked to his left, where the ocean was crashing violently in the distance. It screamed at him. It dared him to try and leave Tortuga. The idea of drowning, of being crushed by those waves, plagued Zayn’s mind and his body shuddered in response. When he opened his eyes, the ocean water quietly nipped near his boots, gently pulling in and out of the shore. This was the same ocean that was roaring miles away? How bad could it possibly be? Water had the effect of being soft and gentle, didn’t it?

As if testing himself, Zayn decided to take off his boots and see if he could step into the shallow shore. He’d never done so before, but if he was going to leave Tortuga, this was something he’d just have to get over. The cold wind bit at his naked toes as they sank into the cushioned sand. Step by step, he approached the water. He thought he wasn’t close enough, when the tide waded in and a wall of cold water smashed against his thin brown ankles. Zayn comically leaped out and back onto dry land.

“Bloody hell!” he shouted aloud, quickly putting his boots back on to warm up his frozen feet. The ocean was a damned liar, making him think it was sweet and soothing when it was unpredictable and as cold as he was on that December morning when he had to chase a thieving client down, arse naked.

He collapsed against a rock, defeated. Subconsciously, he ran his fingers through his rich hair again and through his arm he saw that haunting guineaman a second time. And again he saw visions of himself on that ship, with a cutlass in one hand and his arm around who would be his mates, the family he’d never had. Zayn violently shook his head, as if he could physically shake off those unreasonable dreams. If he couldn’t even last a second in shallow water, what made him think he could handle living on a ship? Ships were honestly just a giant piece of wood between his scrawny body and certain death. He let out a deep sigh, angry and disappointed in himself.

Zayn began to make his way back to the brothel, the terrain shifting from soft sand to the firmness of the pier, when someone caught his eye. He had to look back at the guineaman ship again, but this time, he didn’t see the ship but instead saw this man standing atop the sterncastle deck. A man who was oddly intriguing, standing confidently among his mates, fingers effortlessly twirling around a small telescope. His clothes weren’t necessarily luxurious—a simple leather coat over a linen shirt with few jewels or adornments—but Zayn could tell from the way he held himself that he had to be the captain of that ship. Lost in thought, something slammed into his body, knocking him off his feet. His back thudded violently against the wooden pier.

“Watch yerself, ye fucking cunt!” shouted a man Zayn heard walking away, but he couldn’t catch a glimpse. His breath was knocked out and he tangled in the sea of sailors’ legs, some beginning to trample him, stepping on his hair and crushing his fingers. _Fucking get up, you idiot._ He couldn’t, boots were knocking him left and right and he panicked, unable to find a way up, thinking _this is it. This is how you go, Zayn, you bloody fool. Trampled by muddy boots. Fuckin’ fantastic. Get the fuck up. Get up! Get—_

Something yanked on his arm, nearly dislocating it out of his body and he was dragged out of the busy bodies and the pulling force didn’t stop until they were in the clear. Confused, it took him a while to find his feet and stand up straight. Taking in what he could, he saw he was closer to the guineaman, and that there was a young man standing in front of him.

“You alright there, mate?” the boy said, waving his hand in front of Zayn’s face. He registered a mass of uncontrollable brown hair with a bandana attempting to tame it. “Damn near got yourself crushed. Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to walk?” Zayn was about to snap back at the young man, but he saw the boy grinning from ear to ear, deepening the dimples in the sides of his cheeks. Immediately, he knew he liked him. Other than for owing him his life, this boy seemed like a glowing ball of playfulness, something Zayn hadn’t seen for years. “She forget to teach you how to talk too, eh?”

Stumbling over his words, Zayn spit out his name. A terribly sad introduction, he thought.

“ Fine name. Little foreign for my taste, but fine nonetheless. ‘Spose I’d introduce myself as Harry and say I’m boatswain for that beauty over there,” he threw his thumb over his shoulder to motion towards the guineaman Zayn had been eyeing all afternoon. His heart skipped a beat, he could ask this Harry who—“but let’s not forget who’s the clever git that decided to step outside today. You even from here?”

“Yeah, actually—“

“’Cause you look terribly lost. Poor guy like you walking around like some sorry sea dog. Well,” he slapped a hand amiably on Zayn’s shoulder, “Keep an eye out for yourself. You’re too pretty to get yourself trampled by dirty ol’ sailors.” Harry turned with a wink and made his way back towards that ever-fateful ship.

_You following him, Zayn? I mean, forget the deadly waters. Think about what a nice man that Harry was. And the adventure? And that strikingly attractive captain? You’ve got to find out his name. You’ve got to—_

“Oh for fuck’s sake, fine!” Zayn snapped at that voice in his head. He jogged ahead, snatching a tri-cornered hat from a sailor passing by and slipping an eye patch from a blind man sitting against a barrel of rum. Both shouted at him, but he bet on the thick crowd to keep them from finding him. Regardless, the gentleman in him had to yell out “sorry!” and he mentally slapped himself for it. Luckily, he made it to the guineaman in one piece.

His heart pounded against his chest, nervous. But he knew he had to fake his confidence like he belonged. Any eye contact he made with a sailor, he tipped his hat in greeting. Good job, Zayn. Now if only his nerves would think so.

Watching the busyness of the ship almost distracted Zayn from trying to find an inconspicuous place to hide. A lookout hoisted himself into the crow’s nest, a blond cook was heaving heavy pots of food across the main deck, various sailors were pushing cannons into their respective places and there. There was the captain. Zayn lifted his eye patch in order to fully see him. He could see that his hair was cut short, almost to the scalp. He stood so powerfully, but his face told a different story. Now that Zayn was this close, he could see that there was a kindness and a soft glow in the captain’s warm brown eyes. But that wasn’t the only thing drawing Zayn to him. Before he could pinpoint exactly what it was, the captain spoke.

“Men! Anchors aweigh! Today, we sail for the Indian Ocean!” he bellowed over his crew. One asked what was in the Indian Ocean, to which he replied, “There’s nothing left here in the Caribbean, boys. Shipmaster Louis here tells me the Spanish ships are now trading between the Indian Ocean and Port Royal. That’s where the booty is and boys, that’s where we’re goin’. Get ready to get rich!”

The crew bellowed and cheered at the idea of luxury and gold and jewels. They scampered around, too eager to make their way to the Indian Ocean.

The ship began slowly making its way across the bay, launching itself and Zayn into a whole new world. What was out there? India sounded wonderful. Zayn thought of all the different kinds of foods and—

 _Wait._ Zayn looked around him. Reason and logic finally kicked out dreams and fantasy. _That captain was talking about booty? Stealing from Spanish ships?_ He saw ragged seamen dressed in mismatched colors, with a disorderly collection of weapons, as if they pillaged them from other sailors. He saw many men missing teeth, eyes, or arms. Did he dare look up? How the hell did he miss it? His eyes slowly crept up the mainmast and toward the flag. It was at half-mast before and now that it was hoisted clearly in the air, Zayn could see it. That infamous black flag with the skull and crossbones.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck, bloody fuck,” he ran and halted against the railing of the ship. The dock wasn’t far, only a few meters of water between Zayn and safety. _Only a few meters._ Survival instincts tried to pull Zayn into the water, but he couldn’t. He just fucking couldn’t. The water looked too cold, too dangerous. Frustrated, he punched his fist into the ship. Once. Twice.

He was stuck on a bloody pirate ship! Headed across the Atlantic and to the Indian Ocean, with no land mass to save him for what could be months. Zayn let out a strained groan, with his hands pulling his head back. Would he even make it out of this alive? Did pirates take in stowaways with kindness? Did they eat them? He didn’t know!

Then his eyes caught the captain maneuvering the ship’s wheel, his sleeves pulled back to reveal strong forearms gently guiding the ship to where she needed to go. His fingers nimbly lingered on one spoke before clutching another. There was something about those fingers that Zayn couldn’t stop watching.

He let out a breath to express that he had reluctantly accepted his fate. If this was it, his end, at least he had this captain to look at.

“A fucking bloody pirate ship,” he muttered and chuckled under his breath. He really was some sorry old sea dog.


	2. Our Raging Motions, Our Carnal Stings, Our Unbitted Lusts

“Lower the flag!” Liam shouted from the bridge. They were approaching Tortuga bay and the last thing he wanted was for his ship to be identified as pirate. He didn’t want to care if the Royal Navy put a bounty on his head—he’d invite it as an adventure and a challenge—but he had to watch out for his crew. A loyal and able-bodied bunch he certainly didn’t deserve but he had them anyways. Louis said he had been doing a fine job leading the men, with only a few casualties within the past few months, but they were still men lost. He tried to keep as many men alive and well fed, all of them, if possible. That was why his control over the wheel was near-perfection, why he made sure any old weathered rigs were replaced by the finest oak and why he made sure every pirate had a full belly by the end of the day.

The ship was perfectly aligned with the landing pier, but Liam still thought it could have been a couple feet closer.       

“Relax, Captain,” he felt a hand clap on his broad shoulder. He didn’t need to look to feel Louis’ smile calm him. “Honestly, clutch that wheel tighter and you’ll crush it and the ship’ll lose control and we’ll all sink to our deaths!”

Terrified at the thought, Liam wrenched his fingers from the wheel, but realizing Louis was joking, he gently elbowed him in the stomach. It was nice to have a good laugh with his Shipmaster when they were interrupted by his First Mate.

“Whenever you two lads are done playing around, we can start discussing our next plan of action,” Nick sneered. Liam didn’t mind him much, but he had this sense that Grimshaw never did grow a liking to him. He speculated it had something to do with his appointment as First Mate to the late Captain Cowell and his remaining appointment as First Mate with Liam himself. The man had been on this ship for as long as pirates had been sailing the Seven Seas and yet he was still just First Mate.

“Grimshaw, you killjoy. We just had a plan of action,” Louis spoke, “Give the men a little room for air.” Nick scrunched his large nose in the most unattractive manner. Liam never said anything about it.

“At this point, we can start unloading the booty that no one claimed,” Liam tried to distract himself from the tension between his first mate and his shipmaster. “We’ve already got our shares of the riches and the men have siphoned their pickings. I think those Spanish goblets will fetch a good sum of gold.”

“Are we spending that gold tonight in Tortuga?” a voice asked from behind Liam. There he saw Harry, his heap of curly hair and a pair of green eyes mischievously peeking from behind a couple boxes of cargo. Liam had never seen those boxes before, but with Harry, things just showed up. He had the official title of boatswain, but no one ever really knew what he did.

Liam chuckled, “Not tonight, Harry. We’ve got another plan to set course for.”

“What?” Grimshaw snapped. “Is there a plan you and Tomlinson made without my input?”

“I’ve only gotten the short bit, but Louis’ got a whole solid plan,” Liam explained. Grimshaw expressed his discomfort audibly, and then nodded to the shipmaster, as if to challenge him, daring him to step up to the plate with whatever plan he thought he had. Louis brushed off Nick’s gesture and began to explain his findings.

“So I’ve been following the paths of the Spanish ships we’ve been pillaging for the past few months and I’ve begun to see a pattern,” He pulled out a map that fluttered with the wind and then flattened over the bench. Liam couldn’t help but stare admirably at Louis’ initiative. “See, the ships we attacked today and last week have all been bringing back loads of treasure and goods from the Caribbean; that’s nothing new. But what’s been digging at my mind is that they’re all headed _east._ Not northeast towards Europe, where they usually bring back their goods. East.”

“So? How is this information important in any way?” Grimshaw impatiently snapped, to which Harry made a face, furrowing his eyebrows. Liam tried hard not to chuckle, knowing Harry never let anyone interrupt Louis.

“Well, last week when we were in Port Royal, I went to a couple inns to get a tad bit of information. From word of quite a few mouths, it appears that the Caribbean is losing profit. It’s not utterly bankrupt yet, but clearly the Spanish have anticipated this and that’s where they’re all going…the Indian Ocean!” Louis looked up from his map with a broad smile, expecting the men to be jumping in joy from his impeccable discovery. Liam gave him a good slap on the back, Harry congratulated him on a job well done and Nick shut his mouth, impressed.

“Before we go,” Harry spoke, “can I go get a few bottles of rum for the journey?” Liam jokingly contemplated but ultimately let him go, telling him not to be too long. Watching him walk down the harbor pier with a jump in his step, Liam was glad to have the ball of sunshine aboard.

"Why don’t you go ahead and tell the men to unload the remaining goods? Then go treat yourself to a drink or two, you certainly deserve it,” Liam shook Louis’ shoulder.

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Louis grinned and he was off. Liam let out a mental sigh, once again stuck with Grimshaw. No, honestly, he didn’t mind him. The man was a good first mate and the men followed his orders with respect. It was just the apparent disdain Nick held for Liam, for being chosen Captain over him, especially after years of devotion to Captain Cowell. And Liam would have happily given Nick the captain position, but over the years he’s observed his hotheadedness, his impatience and tension. These traits would not make a good captain and reluctantly Liam retained his position. But Nick was observant and he took charge and this was why he kept him as his first mate.

“You do know how long it’s going to take to get to the Indian Ocean, don’t you?” Nick asked.

“Oh, undoubtedly. But I don’t think that matters to my crew. Captain Cowell was the kind of man who drove a hunger for adventure in them and I can feel them falling asleep under my command. They’ll stay awake out of respect for me, but my men are drifting, Grimshaw. I need to show them that I can provide as much adventure and danger as Simon had done before,” he let out a sigh as he threw his head down. Everything he said sounded so much truer when it was spoken out loud. He needed to keep his crew awake. They were losing their spark, growing tired of the monotonous cycle of plundering the same Spanish ships in the Caribbean. It was too easy and too safe. This caused conflict within Liam, however. He _needed_ toprovide his crew endangerment, but he needed to make sure they were alive at the end of it. He swore to end all the casualties, but at what cost?

Grimshaw scoffed under his breath and began to walk away, and Liam could have sworn he’d heard him say _I would have done a better job._

“What was that?” Liam decided to challenge. Maybe it was time for him to tell off his first mate for his attitude.

“I said, ‘I could have done a better job’,” Grimshaw turned back to face Liam. “I’ve been on this ship since you were just sucking on your mother’s tits and more, Payne. I’ve had Simon’s back since the very fucking beginning and then here you show up and he’s all over you like a goddamn puppy. Now here you are, captain and you don’t even know what the hell you’re doing.” Liam regretted trying to confront Grimshaw, because when the latter then turned around again and left, leaving Liam fueling with anger.

“Hey there, cap—,” Louis came back with a bottle of rum, temporarily unopened. “You alright there, mate? The hell did Grimshaw say this time?”

Liam had about had enough, nearly wanting to punch in his face. He wanted to tell him that he had no choice. He had no choice when he was kidnapped as a kid. He had no choice when Simon took him in and told him it was either the family he hardly remembered or the pirates he’d just met. Grimshaw never saw any of this. He was blinded by his own pride and for too long Liam sat by, hoping it would steam over. Liam had told Louis all of this, and Louis understood quietly, having standing on the sidelines of the tension between Nick and Liam for almost as long as they had all been on the ship.

“Honestly, don’t worry about it, Liam. Grimshaw doesn’t know all the shite you’ve been through and he doesn’t deserve to,” Louis comforted him. “That git is getting old anyways, probably die of scurvy or old age eventually.”

The two laughed, draining the heat from Liam’s face to kind warmth into his heart. He was certainly glad to have had Louis to help stand by him all this time.

Liam was then told that all the goods had been deported into Tortuga and that the men had had plenty of time to spend a good amount of their pickings on rum and tobacco for the long journey. There was also a stable import of food and drink onto the ship, but those were secondary needs next to rum.

Motivated by Louis’ support, Liam then approached the edge of the quarterdeck to launch the vessel back into the water. He bellowed to the men to aweigh the anchor and to lift the flag back up as soon as they were on open water. When they asked about their destination, he announced the plans his shipmaster Louis had developed. There was an excitement in his men’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in a while. The unexplored waters were going to be dangerous, but Liam was going to make sure that his crew would be safe. He’d undoubtedly see to it. He’d prove Grimshaw wrong and he’d prove to Simon that he could lead a band of pirates properly. He’d been filling his adopted father’s boots for a while now but his full potential was going to be realized on this adventure to the Indian Ocean. He just knew it.

The wind was hardly pushing through the ship’s sails when Harry approached Liam at the captain’s wheel.

“I didn’t know when to tell you this, since you were busy getting us out of the harbor and I didn’t want to interrupt but then I thought maybe it’d be best if I told you now—.”

“What, Harry?”

“I found a little stowaway onboard,” Harry smiled, “Found the cheeky thing just standing by the edge of the ship. I thought he was part of the crew until he started punching her, looking all distressed and such.”

He motioned to some men on the main deck and they began pulling someone forward. A million thoughts ran through Liam’s mind. He’d never had a stowaway on board before. What was he supposed to do? He could feel Nick’s watchful eyes burning into the back of his skull. Grimshaw would probably have the lad thrown overboard. Sure, Liam could do that. The harbor wasn’t too far so he could swim back.

The men threw the stowaway at Liam’s feet, where he landed on his hands and knees. He was ready to make the command when the young man looked up at him.

 _His eyes._ Liam was caught entirely off guard. He noticed immediately not only how the sun glistened off his rich brown eyes, but also how they flickered in fear, searching in Liam’s own eyes for mercy. _Wait. I’ve seen these before. These exact same beautiful, scared eyes. Where though?_

“Uh, Captain?” Louis prompted. “What are we doing with the stowaway?”

“I say we throw him overboard,” Nick quickly declared the sentence Liam knew he would. “The boy can swim, I’m sure.”

At the mention of being thrown into the ocean, Liam saw panic in the stowaway’s eyes _,_ like he would rather die fighting every man on this ship than swim. Liam could feel something pulling at his chest, begging him to let this boy live. He could feel not only Grimshaw’s stare, but the gazes of his crew, all expecting him to make the hard call. Before he could, however, Nick took initiative and declared the boy be thrown overboard.

“We don’t need another mouth to feed on this ship. It’s not like we’re leaving him in the middle of the ocean, the harbor is just a quick swim away,” he yelled and others nodded in agreement. The men who carried him to Liam began to lift him up again and pull him towards the plank, but the timid young man suddenly wouldn’t go without a struggle.

He pulled and twisted, trying to get away from the edge of the ship.

“Please! Please don’t throw me into the ocean! I can’t…I can’t—,” the boy begged, pleading the men at his arms. His struggles became increasingly violent as they dragged him closer. His feet pushing against the edge of the ship were the only things keeping him aboard. Then, for only a moment, his arm wrenched free and he was able to turn around and his eyes connected with Liam’s. He didn’t need to say it, but Liam knew immediately what made this young man so uneasy about being thrown overboard. And only then did Liam figure out his decision. Screw Grimshaw, screw being judged by the crew.

“Stop!” Liam announced. There was a hush amongst the men, all in limbo for what he was going to say next. The stowaway bent his head to see what the captain was saying, Liam occasionally catching those praying eyes, begging him to spare him from those deadly waters. “You know what? We’re in it for the long haul, aren’t we? It’s going to be months before we get to the Indian Ocean and we’re going to need someone to pick the barnacles off the ship. LeRoy, you wanna be the one to check for shipworms?”

The pirate he picked on and others around him laughed, all teasing him as he put his hands up in refusal. Others were looking at each other, curious as to what the captain was going to propose, if not savagely throwing someone into the ocean.

“Didn’t think so. So let’s give a good warm welcome to our new cabin boy!” He waved an arm out to the stowaway, who was still breathing heavily and still rather confused. His men were also slightly baffled. Some were disappointed that they didn’t get to throw someone overboard and others simply went back to what they were doing. Liam was beginning to question his own decision to make this lad cabin boy, but then he glanced at the scared young man, who was letting out a sigh of relief and suddenly Liam didn’t care. He saved a life.

He called out to the stowaway and commanded that he accompany him and his mates, ready to brief him on his new duties.

“So what, we’re just making him cabin boy?” Nick asked as the young man made his way up the decks.

“I’m okay with that,” Louis rebuffed and laughed, Harry in agreement. “As long as it’s not me who has to clean this godforsaken ship.”

“What’s your name, boy?” Liam asked the stowaway, hardly interested in where his mates stood on the issue.

“Zayn,” he stammered, adding a “sir” after receiving scrutinizing looks from Nick, Louis and Harry. Liam smiled, satisfied.

“Harry, go ahead and show Zayn around the ship, let him know what he’ll be doing during his time here and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“Will do, captain,” said Harry as he took Zayn by the arm and headed down to the main deck, explaining the duties of a cabin boy.

He heard Nick quietly scoff before going off on his own, chatting with other old pirates like him that have been there since Simon’s command. Liam heard Louis say a few things about sailing the Atlantic and how excited he was to see what was in the east but Liam couldn’t take his mind off of the new cabin boy. He found his eyes searching for the lean Pakistani boy through the mass of fat dirty pirates rushing about and maintaining the ship. He finally saw him on the left side of the main deck, Harry gesturing towards the floors, perhaps explaining how much of the deck he would have to swab. But at that moment, he didn’t care about what Harry was saying. No, he just saw the cabin boy. Liam watched him as he clutched his arm, shoulders hunched, surrounded by pirates.

_He’s nervous and scared. Go say something._

“Louis, take the wheel, would you?” Liam stepped aside as Louis gladly substituted. Liam made his way down the steps, slowly so as not to seem too eager to speak with the cabin boy. He had a few words with other seamen before finally making it to the left main deck. He beckoned Harry to allow him and the cabin boy to have a few words and he graciously left.

“Zayn, was it?” Liam asked. He stood tall and proud as he walked with his hands behind his back, hoping to show him that he was as confident as he looked.

“Yes, sir,” he replied promptly.

“Tell me, have you ever been on a ship before?”

“No, sir.”

“And why is that?”

“Uh…because I don’t—.”

“Swim?” Liam grinned at Zayn knowingly. “I saw it in your eyes up there, which gets me wondering why a young man like you who can’t swim would want to board a ship sailing across the Atlantic Ocean.”

“I wanted to get away from Tortuga, but I didn’t realize how stupid this decision was until it was too late,” Zayn chuckled nervously, running his fingers through his hair.

 _I want to run my fingers through his hair_.

Liam immediately shook off the distracting thoughts. He cleared his throat and recomposed himself.

“Well, you’re going to making up for that stupid decision for the next few months, lad. Swabbing decks, picking out barnacles, pulling out shipworms, it’s quite the adventure,” Liam slapped a hand on Zayn’s back, “But don’t worry about us pirates. We’re really not as menacing as we look. Feel free to chat with me if anyone gives you a hard time. Now, go ahead and find Harry if you haven’t quite finished learning the ropes. Then head off the to galley, where I’m sure the cook will need some help.”

“Thank you, sir,” Zayn bowed, which Liam found rather amusing.

“You can call me Liam, or Captain Payne if we’re around the crew,” Liam winked.

“Thank you, Liam,” he smiled, even though there were men within hearing distance. _Cheeky,_ Liam thought.

With that, he headed back up to the quarterdeck and reclaimed his wheel from Louis. He let out another breath. He was always worried he was going to slip up or stutter or say the wrong thing and there was something about this new cabin boy that made him more terrified of screwing up than usual.

He looked back down at the main deck, at Zayn. There was something about him. It wasn’t just the undeniable charm or the softness in his eyes. There was something picking at the back of Liam’s mind, like he’d seen that charm and those eyes before. Annoyed that he couldn’t remember how or when, he pushed that itching thought away. There was no way he knew Zayn from anywhere else.

He would have remembered.

           


	3. My Hopes Stand In Bold Cure

Zayn only sparsely looked behind, to catch a quick glimpse of captain’s back, his coattails flowing with his steady pace. He swore he’d been captivated by that exact pace, that exact way of walking before. He thought he’d almost been able to pinpoint when and where if he stared longer, but a soft, slow voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Where were we?” Harry tapped his fingers on the side of the ship. “I s’pose there’s really no point in telling you anything else since the captain wants you working in the galley. The cook there’ll get you sorted.”

Harry grinned, his friendly dimples reassuring Zayn that the cook wasn’t much harm. This softened some of his concerns, as he imagined pirate cooks as fat and greasy and not at all likeable.

He kept up behind Harry as they weaved through the busybodies on deck. Some tried to look like they were occupied, pulling rigs and adjusting the sails. Others simply sat around and gossiped, like fat cats basking in the sunlight. Whatever anyone was doing, they all gave Zayn looks as he walked past. They had wanted to throw him overboard and they probably felt cheated that he was still here.

“So, um,” Zayn jogged up to catch up with Harry, maybe to distract himself from the glaring looks. “What do you do here?"

“Are you trying to make small talk with me?” Harry briefly turned his head to flash a smirk to show Zayn he was a kidder. “I’m what they’d call a boatswain, I’d s’pose. People’ll tell you I don’t do anything important really, but I’m rather just too good at my job.” He kept a little chuckle to himself, and Zayn couldn’t tell if he was making fun of himself or he really was good at his job.

“I make sure ship’s got plenty of supplies for every journey and the sails are all in proper states,” Harry continued as they bustled down the steps, descending into the first level of the ship, where Zayn saw loads of cannons. “No one ever wonders who weighs anchor either, but they all ask why I’ve got such big muscles.”

He beamed and flexed an arm at Zayn, to which he raised a playful eyebrow and a teasing grin that Harry received expectantly. The boatswain certainly wasn’t unfit, but his muscles were far from beastly and they both knew that.

“I may be the brawns here but Louis’ our shipmaster, the brainy one that figures out where we go and how we get there, navigating and such. Nick’s the captain’s first mate, which, if you ask me, should be Louis. He’s damn hard worker and been by the captain’s side since forever. Not to mention devilishly handsome,” Harry joked again but Zayn could see a serious lingering admiration in Harry’s eyes as he turned the corner and made his way down the second set of steps, heading downward into the second level of the ship.

Zayn smiled to himself, kind of adoring Harry and these other pirates. They seemed to be a very close-knit family, something he yearned for but wouldn’t dare imagine he’d find on a pirate ship.

“So why isn’t he first mate?” Zayn asked as he spun around a wooden beam following Harry. He was genuinely curious as to why this Nick Grimshaw, someone who didn’t seem to get along rather well with the other mates, ended up with the second highest position on the ship.

“It’s cos he’s been here longer than all of us mates combined. You see, before Captain Payne, we had Cowell. He was like a father to us, and Grimshaw was his first mate. How that happened, no one knows. So when Cowell died and made Liam captain, we honor him by keeping Grimshaw as first mate. We’ve been hoping he’d move on, y’know, get his own ship or retire on land, but the poor bastard is stubborn as hell,” the boatswain shrugged casually, as if they’d never really discussed the issue or bothered to bring it up.

 _Didn’t want to rock the boat,_ Zayn punned in his head, mentally chuckling and then telling himself to shut up.

“Here we are,” Harry stopped, and Zayn almost bumped into him, a result of being both lost in puns and having his momentum thrown off. He looked to where Harry was gesturing, down another, shorter, set of steps. This made it a section in the third level of the ship.

The wooden stairs creaked as the two made their way down, Zayn observing the open space. It was rather large. There was a wall behind the stairs, which were flanked by stores of food, some sacks of flour, potatoes and whatever else. Ahead was the galley, along with a number of tables and stools for dining. Zayn saw a collection of pots and pans hung across the wall and another collection of dirty ones in heaps across the floor. He could see that the cook attempted to keep them all in the sink, but failed since the rate of dirty pots exceeded his rate of cleaning them.

Now, Zayn knew that the floors of a pirate ship were going to be disgusting, but the floors of the galley were an unpleasant surprise. What was it covered in? Mud? Mold? It was something dark and black and it didn’t look like it was going to rub off without a fight.

Regardless of how the galley looked, it smelled absolutely wonderful.

The aroma—it had to be something with broth, with a rich meaty scent. He traced it from the steam floating through the air back to a pot on a lit fire, where a man about his age was stirring something delightful. The glow from the stove illuminated his blond hair and beads of sweat were dripping down from his pale forehead. Zayn noticed a joy in the cook’s blue eyes; he may have been sweating hot in a grimy cluttered kitchen, but he loved what he was doing.

Harry had hardly taken his foot off of the last step before he called the cook’s name. “Niall! Heard you needed a hand with that mountain of dirty pots.”

The cook looked up from his pot with a lovable smile that spread from ear to ear.

“Finally, I’ll get to see you do some real fucking work, Harold.” Harry gave him a sarcastic har-har before introducing him to Zayn.

“This is the new cabin boy, if you haven’t heard—perhaps not, since you never leave this kitchen. Your skin is begging to see sunlight,” Harry teased by flicking a finger on the cook’s arm, to which he responded with a tongue out the mouth.

“Anyways, Captain’s assigned him to you, for now. Use him while you can, because I want him next."

The cook laughed. “What d’you even need help with, Harry? Carrying around shipments of nothing? ‘Checking’ the sails? Get out of my kitchen, you useless cunt.”

Zayn noticed the cook had a mouth like a sailor—ha—but Harry snickered, showing that his swears were taken in all good fun. He saw the playful banter between the boatswain and the cook, and he almost felt like he should have been nauseated, but he really did revel in the informality and familiarity. He didn’t think such a friendship was possible on a pirate ship, but watching how Harry interacted with the cook made him eager to start one.

“Alright, I’ll leave you two to have your fun,” Harry clapped a hand on Zayn’s shoulder before he turned back to make his way back to the main deck. “Good to see you, Niall!” He shouted as his feet disappeared up the steps.

Niall was chuckling to himself as Zayn took a step forward to introduce himself, but before he could spit out a “hello, I’m Zayn,” the cook’s friendly teasing demeanor vanished.

“Look, I’ve got a lot of cooking to do for dinner tonight and I’ve really got no time to get friendly with a stowaway. If you’re here to do work, grab a rag from the wall and fill a bucket with soap and water. These floors need cleaning and I haven’t had a spare moment to do it myself.”

Zayn was completely caught off-guard.

Disheartened, he grabbed a rag he saw hanging on a hook of the kitchen wall—hopefully it was the right one—and snatched a nearby bucket. He didn’t see any water though.

“Where—”

“It’s all around us, where else do you think we get water?"

Now Zayn wasn’t just disappointed, he was offended. At first, he was put off but maybe the cook was only friendly to Harry. This was just rude. He didn’t dare say anything else, he just hurried out of that galley and up the stairs. Three sets of them weren’t enough to calm him down, and the fresh cool air was a welcome feeling against Zayn’s heated face.

He took a good long breath, inhaling the crisp ocean air deep into his lungs before making his way to the edge of the ship to get water.

 _Did you honestly think you were going to make_ friends _here? Hello?? Have you forgotten you’re on a bloody pirate ship? Let’s think about surviving first then we can get friendly with murderous, drunken criminals._

As he was pulling the bucket back up, his hands clutching at the ragged rope he tied around the handle, Zayn entertained the idea of jumping into the ocean. But when his eyes deviated from the bucket and wandered to the roaring waters smashing up against the hull of the ship, he almost dropped the bucket into those waters. His heart dropped and as usual, a million deadly scenarios ran through his mind.

Getting swept up, tossed around like a rag doll, cold water burning itself into his lungs, his skinny arms uselessly trying to fight their way out—

_Fucking hell, its just water._

Regardless, he always had the same reaction. He successfully retrieved the bucket and took a deep breath before making his way—slowly—back to the galley. _Damn it,_ he thought. He was going to be stuck with that bundle of joy for who knows how long. It could just be for today, but he could also be stuck with Niall for the rest of the journey.

And naturally, the cook doesn’t lift his head or say a word when Zayn reenters the galley. Fine, he thought. They didn’t have to be companions or anything; they just needed to co-exist. He would just do his duties quietly and cooperatively.

He decided to start in the corner farthest from Niall. Only when he actually got down on his knees to scrub the floor did Zayn notice the state it was in. The corners were matted with spider webs, and the floors themselves were caked in dirt, dust and mud, set and sealed in with the oils from Niall’s cooking. This resulted in what looked like some kind of black sticky gunk. When Zayn barely rubbed it with the wet rag, the rag itself was practically covered in the stickiness, but the floor looked practically untouched. Some of it got on his fingers. Appalled, Zayn had no choice but to wipe it on his trousers and continue working.

Out of the side of his eye, he could feel the cook just waiting for him to say something, whether it was a grunt of disgust or a verbal complaint. But he wouldn’t give him that. No, Zayn soaked the rag in the cold bucket of water and got right down to it.

He clenched the cloth between his fingers, using the points of his knuckles to dig into the floor and scrape off the sticky substance. This method caught most of the filth, and after a few more bucket dips, Zayn could finally make out what the floors used to look like. They looked like rich mahogany boards and though dark, they were loads of shades lighter and brighter than the grime he’d been cleaning off.

The bucket water was already turning into a dull grey and the soap bubbles were already disappearing. Zayn had barely cleaned a good square meter, and though the galley wasn’t particularly large, it was going to take a good long while.

He almost led out an audible sigh before he heard Niall begin to whistle while he cooked. He nearly forgot the cook was there; he was so quiet. _Right, can’t show him how much I hate this. Look at how relaxed he is. Selfish bastard.  
_

Zayn kept at it, quietly kneading the floors with his rag-covered knuckles. The chore turned into repetitive cycles of scrubbing, dipping and wringing the rag, and occasionally running up to the main deck to change out the dirty water. After a while, he couldn’t recall how much time had gone past.

He finally reached the end of the galley, scrubbing the last corner. When he dropped the rag from his hands, he noticed that they were fixed in that clawed position. Alarmed, he tried spreading his fingers wide and straight. They met with some resistance but ultimately gave way, cracking with each twitch. He gave his fingers a good stretch, balling them up in a fist and then widening them up again. He noticed his fingers were puckered from the wet rag.

When he picked up the rag to wring it out, there were blotches of red on the cloth. Blood? There, on the back of hands. The scrubbing had taken its toll on his knuckles, leaving them not only red and sore, but also bleeding. Not profusely, thank God, but enough to show that rubbing on this floor all day was not good for his hands.

Zayn looked up at the mahogany floor, spotless from the collected filth over the years, and he almost forgot how raw his hands were. He almost felt proud.

His eyes drifted from the floor and up to the cook, who had surprisingly been down there with Zayn for as long as he’d been cleaning. Food didn’t really take that long to make, but he supposed the time would be multiplied for an entire crew—how many were there? A good hundred men, he presumed.

Zayn watched as Niall stepped from pot to pot, keeping a careful eye on each one. Spread across the tables were mismatched bowls and porringers, waiting to be filled with whatever Niall was making.

“You almost done there?” Niall asked from the stove, noticing Zayn had stopped working. Those were the first words he’d said to him all day. He practically forgot what Niall’s voice sounded like.

“Yes, sir,” he let out a tiny smile, a remnant of his overflowing pride. Niall didn’t see, thank goodness.

“Right, well, here,” he poured something soupy and lumpy into a bowl and placed on the table next to Zayn. “Clean up first, then you can take your supper to your sleeping quarters.”

He snatched the thin handle of the bucket and began to make his way back up to the main deck. He’d passed by the other two levels of the ship and he started to get used to the sights. The middle floor was a combination of the sleeping quarters’ hammocks and some storage, while the second floor was where most of the cannons and gunfire supplies were kept. Seeing as this was a guineaman, you could see the repurposing of the ship from a slave trader to fit naval warfare. There was tremendous effort to make the holes, the ones the cannons poked out of, to look as if they’d been there, but Zayn could see the newly polished wood frames over the slightly decaying oak boards.

Zayn had been expecting sunlight to blind his face, but his eyes were met with a pleasant darkness. There were lamps being lit across the deck, and ahead in the distance, Zayn could see a faint orange light where the sun was supposed to be. He didn’t realize how much time had passed since he’d been down there cleaning floors. It shockingly took a good portion of the day.

As he walked across the deck, he noticed that it was rather quiet. There were no rambling pirates scurrying about. There were a few stragglers Zayn saw heading downwards into the ship. _Right. Supper._

He dumped the remaining murky water from the bucket and hurried himself back to the galley, the growling pains in his stomach becoming more apparent. He hadn’t eaten a thing all day, not since he was stupid enough to board a pirate ship that morning and get made cabin boy.

The familiar rowdy noise of the pirates got louder as he neared the galley. There was a combination of boasting laughter, the clinking of tin bowls and glass bottles of rum. No one seemed to notice Zayn as he made his way through to get his supper.

In the corner of the galley was an isolated table, where the crew seemed to know to avoid. Zayn immediately recognized a smiling Harry, sitting wedged between the two walls that made the corner. He and Louis seemed to be getting into playful banters, with Niall casually telling off the two young men. His face showed that he knew it was pointless to get the inseparable pair to stop.

There were two backs facing Zayn. One he assumed was that Nick Grimshaw. He hunched over his bowl, leaning away from the others and not entertaining their antics at all. The one next to him, he knew had to be the captain.

It wasn’t just his straight posture or his close cut brown hair or the three-pointed hat sitting near his elbow that gave it away. Zayn remembered his broad shoulders and his strong, angled fingers, the ones he was currently using to softly stroke his hat.

Listening closely, Zayn could actually make out some of their conversation. He took his supper and slowly sank next to a pirate sitting at a table across from the captain’s. His back faced Liam’s, but he could still hear what they were saying.

“How’re you liking the new help?” Liam asked, to which Zayn knew Niall was going to reply with a dismissive comment.

“I quite like him.”

 _Really?_ Zayn almost turned in his seat to make sure it was the cook who said such a thing.

“Really?” Liam mirrored Zayn’s thoughts.

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t expect much from a new cabin boy. You remember that one you kidnapped for me off the coast of Spain? Laziest fucker I’d ever seen.” The men laughed and shared a couple quick quips about this cabin boy before Niall went on.

“Zayn, right? He didn’t complain at all and trust me, I know how rough your hands get scrubbing those wretched floors. He’s a hard worker and I like that. Quiet but he gets the job done and he gets it done well. I think I’m growing rather fond of him.”

Zayn could feel the blood rushing up into his face. He didn’t think Niall would say something as thoughtful as that, so he had to hang his head a little lower to hide a small bashful smile.

“Well that’s great!” Harry said, “I’m glad he’s a good worker because I quite liked him already and that just makes me like him more.”

“Curses,” growled what Zayn assumed to be Nick Grimshaw. “I still think the rat should have been thrown overboard. He’s still another mouth to feed and another body to make room for on this already crowded ship.”

“I’d feed a thousand more mouths and add another hundred pirates to this ship if it meant I get to keep this hardworkin’ cabin boy,” Niall stepped in. “If you don’t show a little more respect, I’ll be makin’ your next bowl of stew special. A la shipworm, maybe?”

“Calm yourselves, would you, boys?” Liam’s voice stepped in. “Niall, we’re not putting shipworms in anyone’s stew. Grimshaw, if you feel this ship is one person too many, feel free to toss someone who isn’t doing their share.”

“Maybe we should toss Harry,” Louis joked and brought back a lighter air amongst the mates. Zayn could hear the men poking a little more fun at Harry before he heard Liam speak again.

“All right, I’m calling it a night.”

He could hear Liam’s stool slide back, followed by the scooting of four other seats. Zayn tucked his head in to avoid being seen as they exited the galley in single file, except for Louis and Harry, who had their arms around each other. They were still laughing about something, far from tired, and Zayn knew their night wasn’t over yet.

He quickly finished his stone cold stew once they’d gone. He could hardly contain his happiness at the thought of Niall taking a liking to him, and he didn’t want anyone to see whatever happiness he couldn’t contain.

The stew was absolutely delicious and Zayn made a note to tell Niall the next morning how much he enjoyed it. Wiping off the excess from the side of his lip, he left the bowl on the table—there didn’t seem to be a communal area for dirty dishes—and started making his way to the sleeping quarters.

Going up the steps and up the levels of the ship seemed effortless, despite his back aching from crouching over all day. It still did, of course, but it didn’t seem as miserable as it was a few moments ago.

The sky was pitch dark, but Zayn could see a few men scattered about the main deck. Everyone else seemed to be in happy comas, put to sleep by Niall’s cooking. The sails themselves seemed to be falling asleep, the breeze softly blowing by. Zayn almost paused to appreciate how calm and quiet everything was but he was still too excited, eager to get to bed and consider everything that had happened to him in that one day.

He did finally make it to his sleeping quarters. It was as Zayn expected. Stuffed and crowded with sweaty pirates who snored much too loudly. There wasn’t a way to get to his empty hammock without rubbing up against a hairy belly here and there.

Hammocks weren’t particularly designated to any person, but Harry did say that everyone tended to lean towards a certain one. He predicted that Zayn might find an empty one along the wall, as most men didn’t prefer the sides because they rocked too much. Sure enough, he found one. It was the lower hammock, under an unfortunately sizeable man.

Barely squeezing in, Zayn tried to get as comfortable as possible. The hammock was made out of—what was that? A potato sack? Whatever it was, it was itchy and had hardly enough room for his long legs. Ultimately, he decided to hang one out of the hammock and sleep on his stomach, since he didn’t want to have the fat pirate’s arse in his face while he was sleeping.

It wasn’t the most ideal sleeping situation but honestly, he didn’t care. He was ecstatic that Niall did like him, especially when he was sure he didn’t. No, the cook said explicitly that he’d grown fond of him. Zayn’s decision to not complain did pay off and clearly he liked that as well. He bashfully burrowed his face into the hammock, paying no attention to the itchy cloth. Niall had defended him too! When Grimshaw said he wanted to throw him into the ocean, Niall had his back, and that made Zayn happy.

Face still buried in the rough hammock, Zayn audibly observed the sleeping quarters. It was loud as all hell from the snoring and he thought he’d felt some drool land on his shoulder, dripping from the man sleeping above him.

He really didn’t care. He wasn’t alone on this ship. Well, yes, he still was, but now there was potential. The boatswain Harry seemed to take a liking to him and now he knew for a fact that the cook had his back. Despite everything in his environment made to keep any sane person awake, sleep came easy to him.


	4. For He Was Great Of Heart

No matter how much sleep he did or didn’t get the night before, Zayn’s internal clock always woke him up at the first sign of daylight, even in the third level of a ship. He probably took after his mother, who he fondly remembered was up much earlier than the rest of the family, aside from himself (they had taken turns making breakfast together, and before she took off for work for the day, she would let him know what to make for supper.) And like his mother, Zayn always woke with a certain energy, which was particularly imminent on this morning. The morning after he heard the cook Niall defending him against Nick Grimshaw. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

He slipped on his boots, nearly confusing the left from the right, eager to get to the galley. He quietly snuck by the sleeping pirates, careful not to wake any of them.

Once he got to the galley, his newfound energy was halted by the sight of muddy footprints and scuffs speckled all over his beautiful mahogany floor, the one he had labored over for so long the day before.

“You’re late,” said a voice from behind him. Zayn turned to see Niall walk passed him, carrying a burdening load of sacks. One was over his shoulder, a couple under his arm, and another he was dragging behind himself. He noticed Zayn’s gaze at the mahogany and stated, “floors on a pirate ship don’t stay clean for long.”

“You need a hand?” Zayn took a sack off of Niall’s shoulder before the cook could respond.

“Thanks,” he grunted as he heaved the bags onto floor. Relieved of the burden, Niall threw his arms up and stretched loudly. He looked like a cat, an image that Zayn tried hard not to laugh at. Niall seemed to have caught him stifling a chuckle, but he didn’t acknowledge it. “I forgot to tell you something last night.”

_That you’d feed a thousand men to let me keep my job? That you’d put shipworms in Nick’s stew for me?_

“You were supposed to do the dishes.”

“Usually, I’d do them myself as I go along and use them. I haven’t had a cabin boy in years, but I'd have them clean the pots and pans all after supper. That’s what I’ll have you do from now on. For today, you’re going to have to do them twice. Once now, and once after supper,” Niall handed him a thick-bristled brush with a wooden handle and another bucket, filled with water. “You’ve cleaned pots before, haven’t you?”

Zayn kept himself from getting snappy and saying “of course.” Instead, he simply nodded and began heating the water over the stove to show Niall that he actually was familiar with cleaning dishes. He remembered his mother’s faint voice from when he first learned to do them, probably around four or five years old.

_Even if you can’t see it, even if you’ve eaten all the food off your plate, there are still tiny little bugs on it that could get rather nasty if you don’t clean them off. Hot water kills them and makes sure we don’t sick from accidentally eating them._

Out of the corner of his eye, Zayn saw Niall watching him intently.

“What are you doing?” the cook asked.

“Heating up this water?”

“…why?”

“Well, my mother always told me that hot water helped kill off the germs from dirty dishes.”

Niall looked genuinely perplexed by the idea, giving the bucket over the fire and Zayn a good analytical stare before returning to slicing his potatoes. Zayn heard him mutter an “interesting.”

It wasn’t long before Niall spoke to him again—remarkable, three times in one day! This time, it was as Zayn was brushing away at the oil and grime of his third pot. It was a large one, much like a cauldron.

“Here,” Niall tossed him a small bag, which opened to reveal sand. “Brush it in before you scrub with the water; it’ll help get some of that stubborn shit off.”  

“Are you…helping me?” Zayn teased with a smile.

“Don’t get cocky, lad,” Niall pointed his knife at him, “I’m not afraid to throw your arse on the spit and serve you to the crew.” He gave Zayn a small smirk as he kept at the potatoes. He soon realized that that was how you knew the cook liked you, if he insulted you or swore at you. He noticed it when Niall talked to Harry and he noticed it when Niall was talking to him. That was probably how the Irish showed their affections.

"Too bad no one would eat you because you've got no meat on your skinny arse.”

Zayn smiled to himself. Yes, he was sure. The cook was undoubtedly fond of him.

~

“One more time, so I know you've got it.”

Pretending to think, Zayn broke eye contact with Niall and stared off towards the ceiling, furrowing his brow and speaking at an agonizingly slow rate, just to piss him off.

“There was…a pound of flour, was it?” Pause. “A spoonful of salt…?"

He could hear Niall getting impatient, but he knew he wouldn’t draw the line until he let out that one big sigh. They’d been over the list of supplies Niall needed that day damn near twelve times. Of course, after a few weeks, he figured the cook was just a perfectionist.

“Five bags of salted…seagull?” Zayn failed to keep in his laughter.

And just then Niall let out his infamous sigh—or was it more of a growl? He’d have to ask Harry what word he was looking for.

Zayn put his hands behind his back, took a deep breath and recited, “two pounds of flour, one pound of salt, four pounds of salted beef, whatever pickled vegetables I can find, garlic and sugar if we have it.”

“If you’d just learn to read, we wouldn’t be having this problem,” Niall looked like he wanted to smack Zayn upside with the raw fish sitting beside him.

“Whoa, I’ve always got the lists memorized after the first time you tell me. Don’t you trust me by now?” Zayn asked innocently, batting his eyes at the cook until he shoved him aside. Niall grumbled something before shooing Zayn out of the galley and throwing a few curse words at the cabin boy.

Theirs was a strange friendship. Was it—yeah, Zayn would say they were friends. Most of their time was spent insulting or teasing or punching each other, but he knew that’s how it worked with Niall. On occasion, he would catch him smiling to himself after Zayn would retaliate, as if the cook thought he taught the cabin boy well. When Zayn called him a fucker for the first time, he swore Niall’s grin was glued stuck to his ears for entirety of the day.

The cargo hold was rather dim, and it smelled wet and moldy. It was lit by a couple portholes, but the majority of the space was drenched in darkness. Zayn took care to stay within the spare rays of light.

The flour, salt and vegetables weren’t far from each other and Zayn only had to make a small trip to get those back to Niall. He made a second trip for the meat, simultaneously keeping an eye out for garlic or sugar. There didn’t seem to be any, until he ventured into a dark corner and found a spare jar of garlic. He smiled knowing how ecstatic Niall was going to be.

“Holy shit!” Niall’s jaw dropped. “You actually found garlic!” He began hopping up and down in joy, and actually _hugged_ Zayn. He was taken by surprise, and really wanted to revel in the moment, but he had to tear himself away from Niall.

“I’ve got to give Harry the numbers before I forget,” he explained.

Niall vigorously waved his hand at him and nodded his head. “Go, go! Just know, you’re a heaven-sent miracle, cabin boy.”

As Zayn was leaving, he looked back to see Niall gazing lovingly at the garlic, slowly caressing the jar.

He found Harry in his quarters, back hunched over a parchment with a quill. Zayn found himself staring wondrously at Harry’s hand, guiding this small pointed feather and making these flowing lines that somehow said something. These lines that other people could see and understand and communicate with. It was like being a part of another culture or speaking another language, one Zayn knew he could never join.

Harry turned to see Zayn and jumped in his seat. “Shit! How long have you been standing there?”

“Sorry! Sorry…um, I’ve got the supply numbers for today,” Zayn said. Harry shook his head as he reached for a rather large book, with pages that were sloppily tied together. He flipped through a few, filled with the supply numbers from the past few weeks, until he reached the blank one for that day. As he reached for a quill, Zayn recited, “two pounds of flour, one pound of salt, four pounds of salted beef, one jar of pickled cabbage and one jar of pickled potatoes.”

He watched curiously as Harry’s quill scratched at the paper. Zayn watched Harry's eyes scan the page for the words he was looking for, wondering what was going through his mind as he read.

“Oh! And a jar of garlic,” Zayn added.

“Garlic?” Harry looked up from his writing. “I had no idea we even had garlic. You’re sure?”

“You can ask Niall, but judging from his reaction, I’m quite sure it’s garlic,” he smiled.

Harry pursed his lips together as if to say _impressive_ as he sped to the bottom of the page and scribbled in what Zayn had to assume was the word _garlic._ He tried to squint at the curves of the lines, getting a loop here and a circle there, before Harry closed the book and put it back in with its other leather-bound companions.

“Thanks, Zayn,” Harry smiled, and Zayn smiled back. He would never raise any concerns in Harry to teach him how to read or write; the boatswain had a lot to do and so did the cabin boy. Neither had enough time for tutoring. Niall had made sure that Zayn would have enough to do each day.

Every morning, he’d get the cook his food supplies for the day’s meals. Then he’d report what they’d taken to Harry, who would write it down and make sure the ship still had plenty of supplies for the trip. Now, Zayn would sweep the crew’s sleeping quarters first and then tidy up the mates’ quarters afterwards.

The crew’s sleeping quarters weren’t difficult to clean; he just had to sweep the floor. Pirates weren’t particularly picky with how their sleeping quarters looked. It was the mates that had their concerns about how Zayn cleaned their rooms.

He would start with the first mate’s quarters, as his was the messiest and would take the longest to clean. Nick would leave food in the most obscure places, and if Zayn should miss anything, it would without doubt grow mold and start merging with the ship itself. His bed was always unkempt, and the covers looked as though the first mate never slept still. And although Zayn swept the floors every afternoon, they always seemed to be covered in something the next day, whether it’d be dirt or sea biscuit crumbs. Sometimes when he was in the middle of sweeping the floor, Nick would come in and drop a few more spots of food. Zayn wasn’t always sure if he meant to do it or if he was just so naturally inclined to be a pig that he never noticed when he was acting like one.

The shipmaster’s room was the next messiest, but Louis had made it clear that he liked some things in their own places. His quarter was covered with maps, ship logs and other scrolls of parchment—on the bed, on his desk, pinned against the walls. Zayn took care not to touch any of them, simply removing any old food bowls and sweeping whatever spare area of floor he could.

Harry’s was probably Zayn’s favorite quarter to clean. He always seemed to be in the room, writing or reading something, but when the cabin boy came in, Harry would put down his quill or his book and have a chat with him. Zayn would sometimes pretend to be cleaning something, or taking an agonizingly long time remaking Harry’s bed—the boatswain always tried, but he always failed to tuck in his sheets or fold his covers the right way. Regardless, Zayn’s walkthrough of Harry’s room never lasted long. His quarters were always impeccably clean, and he was tempted to attribute it to the fact that Harry didn’t seem to own much aside from books and paper, which were all stored away in his desk. Or the fact that whenever he ate, he ate in the galley at irregular intervals when Niall and Zayn were cooking. Or the fact that he cleaned his own boots, getting not so much as a scuff on his floors.

Then there was the captain’s quarters. He didn’t have much to do in there either, as Liam was just as neat as Harry. His bed was always made—correctly, he might add—his floors were always clean, and any dishes he had he would return them to the galley only moments after taking a bowl to his room. He spent the longest time cleaning Nick’s room, and the longest time chatting with Harry in his, but he had the hardest time getting himself to leave Liam’s.

Maybe it was the earthy scent that Zayn first thought was the wood of the ship, but it was a different kind of musk that he didn’t smell in any of the other mates’ quarters. His curiosity about who Liam was and whether or not he knew him from somewhere had waned—he accepted that maybe he was from an old dream or looked like a passerby Zayn encountered in Tortuga—but on occasion, he would give into the urge to glance through Liam’s things on the offchance that something would spark his memory.

Once he took a tunic from Liam’s chest of clothes and put it to his nose, discovering that the musk of the room was originating from his wardrobe. Another time, Zayn went through his desk and peeked at the papers, but being illiterate, it didn’t provide much satiation to his curiosity.

He knew it was an invasion of Liam’s privacy and he knew he was being quite nosy, which was why he sparingly gave in. When he did, he’d make sure Liam was steering the ship.

This time, he resisted the urge to go through Liam’s things and quickly moved on to his next chore: mopping the decks. It took longer than getting supplies and cleaning the quarters combined, and it was Zayn’s least favorite job. While the crew wasn’t as glaringly hostile as before, they had this air that said they were just here for the money and not the small talk. So every day for the past several weeks, Zayn mopped the decks in silence.

As he made his way from stern to bow, Zayn could see the sun dropping from one end of the sky to the other. When he turned to see how much he had left, he saw a familiar figure sitting on the bows…bowsprit? That stick thing at the end of the ship’s stern. He was pretty sure it was called a bowsprit.

Harry had one leg spread along the bowsprit, and his other propping up a book. Zayn watched intently as he licked his fore finger and thumb to turn the pages. He could feel a shiver of jealousy as he watched Harry read. Where did he even learn? He was a pirate and pirates didn’t know how to read. The captain and the shipmaster, he could understand, but the boatswain?

“What are you reading?” Zayn asked, taking a break from his deck-swabbing.

“Oh, hello Zayn,” Harry looked up and smiled, reassuring him that he wasn’t being an annoyance. “Do you know William Shakespeare?”

Zayn unfortunately had to shake his head, hating to have to admit to ignorance.

“He’s a writer, died a few years back. He did a lot of plays back in England but some people turned them into books. This one I swiped off a merchant in Port Royal,” he grinned widely at the irony of a literate thief.

“It's called Othello,” Harry continued. “It’s about a lad…well, it’s about a lot of lads. There’s obviously Othello, who’s the leader of this Moorish army. Then there’s Cassio, who’s like Othello’s first mate. Then there's this old coot Iago who thinks he should be Othello's first mate--lieutenant--and so he hates Cassio.  The whole story is Iago trying to get Cassio killed. Right now I’m at this part where Iago is trying to get Cassio drunk so he’d be easier to kill because the poor lad can’t hold his rum."

“Does Iago actually kill Cassio?”

“Probably! I haven’t read to the end yet, but Shakespeare _loves_ killing off his characters. I wouldn’t be surprised if this ended with everyone dead,” Harry laughed, to Zayn’s surprise. Who laughs at the idea of death? Actually, Harry would. Zayn decided he wasn't that shocked.

When his laughter subsided, Zayn couldn’t help but ask him where he learned to read.

“I don’t mean to be rude, its just…people who know how to read and write don’t often become pirates,” Zayn added.

The boatswain was quiet for a moment. He looked down at his book, as if to think about whether or not to explain. Harry’s head rose back up, but he didn’t look at Zayn. Instead, he pondered at the sunset while he spoke to him.

"My father is the Earl of Worcester" Harry admitted, "He wanted me to be proficient in everything from reading, writing, playing music, equestrianism—horseback riding. None of the crew knows this, aside from Louis and the captain. I like you, lad, so I trust you not to tell Nick. The fucker would give me such shit for being noble.”

“I would never," Zayn promised. In what world would he even speak to the first mate of his own free will? "So how did you end up here? Learning all those things sounds wonderful.”

“It is, but the education wasn’t the problem. It was the people,” Harry looked back at Zayn. “I am terribly sorry if I ever seem pretentious or if I ever make you feel like you’re not smart—it’s the ‘noble’ those people have ingrained in me. I try to hide it as much as possible, because I'm ashamed to be associated with that idea--of being better than other people."

He brushed his curly hair out of his face, and through different lenses, Zayn could see the nobility in Harry. He always sat straight and poised and almost never stumbled over anything, despite being much taller than most of the men. But his kind eyes and his words told a different story, one that Zayn now understood.

“It’s ironic, really. Those who have power never use it to help those who don’t,” Harry let out a large sigh and a comforting smile. “So I found it much easier to help people simply by ridding myself of that power. Being a pirate isn't the most ideal situation, but at least I can make certain that a hundred men don’t go hungry _and_ I get to do whatever I want at the same time.”

There was a lengthy pause before Zayn caught Harry staring at him with a creased brow.

“You want to learn how to read?” he grinned. “I could teach you how to write, too.”

Zayn had to keep from himself from calling Harry mental and jumping in joy like Niall had with the garlic.

“Really?”

“Absolutely! I just told you I like helping people.”

“I’m going to hold you to your word,” Zayn held out his hand quickly before Harry would change his mind. To his relief, the boatswain took it immediately and shook it confidently.

“Pirate's honor!" Harry smirked, showing off his mischievous dimples. "I can teach you when you come by to clean my quarters. You hardly ever have that much to do and I can always tell when you pretend to be busy."

~

Zayn could feel his eyelids weighing down by the sandbags of sleepiness. It was getting late, but he couldn’t retire to the sleeping quarters until he finished cleaning every last dish and bowl. And he couldn’t clean every last dish and bowl until every last pirate was finished with their supper.

At the table behind him, he could hear Niall having a laugh with Harry. Zayn didn’t mind if those two stayed late. It was the three very loud and very drunk pirates sitting a few tables ahead of him, eating at the rate of a slug. One pirate looked as tired as Zayn felt, mindlessly stirring his food while the other two men were locked in a cycle of taking a swig of rum, nibbling at their supper, boasting about something, taking swig of rum…he was going to be there all night.

He heard Niall and Harry get up from their stools, ready for sleep. As though they were waiting for the cook and the boatswain, the three pirates rose at the same time and made their way out of the galley. Zayn fetched the remaining bowls.

“You want me to stay and help?” Niall put a hand to Zayn’s shoulder, seeing the considerable pile of dishes. Zayn wished he could take Niall up on his offer, he really did, but the night was late and he knew the cook needed the sleep for the next morning.

“Don’t worry about it…shouldn’t take long,” he weakly smiled to reassure Niall that he’d be fine on his own. He didn’t read any further into it and bid the cabin boy goodnight.

The galley was finally quiet, leaving Zayn alone with his thoughts and his dishes. Lazily, he reheated the water over the stove, grabbed a bag of sand and began scrubbing at a large cauldron.

The sound of the bristles grinding against the sand slowly turned into a hypnotic rhythm. _Back and forth. Back and forth._ Zayn thought he was hearing music coming from the brush. He was certainly much too tired. The oil lamp was beginning to dim, slowly setting itself to sleep and dousing the galley in darkness, which was of no help to Zayn’s growing drowsiness.

 _A quick shut-eye won’t hurt._ He decided to rest his eyes for a brief moment, as he didn’t like how they were starting to burn through his skull.

~

_It was high noon and Zayn was just getting some seawater for Niall’s cooking, like any other day. The ship was barren and quiet, no one seen on deck. The ocean, on the other hand, was thunderous and angry. The sky was a dark charcoal grey, only illuminated by erratic bolts of lightning. He knew he’d be safer below deck—where the crew most likely was—but for whatever reason, he had to get that bucket of water._

_He leaned over the edge of the ship to pull it up, but the vessel shifted and his center of gravity was thrown off, tipping him headfirst into the ocean. The fall felt ages long, as he hoped that someone would come to save him. But no one did._

_It was when his body smacked hard against the rough waters that the fear literally hit him. Like a puppet, he was thrown about and played with, churned in violent circles as the ocean tried to crush him with each wave. They began to attack his insides, burning through his nostrils and breaking past his screams. The water was ice cold against his skin, but it was searing flames through his lungs and his throat._

_This was it. This was how he died. And it was all his fucking fault because he was the idiot that decided to board a ship. Unlike the last time, there was no one here to hold his hand, to make sure that he wouldn’t drown. He was a pitiful excuse for a human being. Absolutely fucking—_

_The ocean stopped fighting him. It disappeared. He could breathe again. His skin was warm, as though his father was holding him again in a safe embrace._

He couldn’t tell that his eyes had drifted open and that he was awake, as the lamp had burned out and the galley was pitch black. Zayn looked out at the porthole and saw that the skies were clear and the moon was still high in the sky, meaning no more than a couple hours had passed. His forehead was covered in sweat. He felt unnaturally warm and that's when he noticed something heavy covering his back and shoulders.

It was a coat, the heat radiating from Zayn and the fabric itself. He ran his fingers across the material. _Leather._ He put the sleeve up to his nose. _Musk._ This was Captain Payne’s coat. When did Liam put this over him? _Why_ did he put it over him?

He put down the brush and the cauldron and began making his way to the main deck, to return Liam's coat.

Zayn first headed towards the captain’s quarters, but stopped when he saw a figure he recognized as Liam standing at the wheel. This night was not a warm one, and the captain was steering the ship in a loose tunic, probably freezing from the cold winds flowing through his shirt. Zayn certainly felt the blood leave his own bones.

“Captain,” he softly spoke as he jogged up the steps to the quarterdeck. Zayn held out the coat as a gesture of return. He watched intently as Liam smiled and slipped it back on. “I’m thankful, but you didn’t have to, captain. It’s much colder up here than it was in the galley.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to me,” Liam waved a hand at Zayn. “My mother used to worry that I was always getting fevers, but actually, I’m just a really warm lad.”

Liam laughed at himself and Zayn joined in with a light chuckle. He liked Liam’s laugh. It was short and sweet and kind. It was the kind of laugh one would never expect to hear from a pirate captain.

There was a lengthy pause, until Liam stopped and tilted his head towards the steering wheel. “Did you want to…?”

“You’d trust me with that?” Zayn asked.

Liam scoffed, “Skies are clear, ocean’s clear. If you capsize this ship, I’d be impressed.”

Zayn laughed and put his hands around two spokes of the wheel.

It was difficult to guide and required a bit of strength. Liam must have seen him struggle to glide the wheel from one side to the left, because Zayn felt two strong hands grasp over his. He was suddenly extremely hot, which was probably due to Liam’s warm chest pressing up against his back and Zayn’s rapid beating heart pumping the blood up to his face. He hoped to God Liam couldn’t feel his heart thumping. Zayn clenched his teeth and pursed his lips trying to keep a calm composure.

“Isn’t it something?” Liam spoke, which almost caused Zayn to unclench his teeth, having to risk losing his control. “The ocean looks so calm, pretty even. But I’ve seen it turn from beautiful to barbaric in the blink of an eye. I can understand why you'd be afraid of it.”

“I’m not—” Zayn blurted before stopping himself. What was the point in lying to Liam? He knew, after all. And he was sympathizing with Zayn. Diverting the focus off of him, Zayn continued, “I think that’s just how the world works. Even with people. They may seem nice, but sometimes people are actually less like people than you thought. They can be much worse.”

“You’re not talking about me, are you?” Liam nipped his nose at Zayn’s neck, which both took him by surprise and tickled a little, causing the two to chuckle.

“No! No, I’m mostly talking about the people back in Tortuga.”

“Well, you can’t base your entire philosophy of humanity on Tortugans,” the captain laughed.

“I know, that’s why I was going to mention that the same works in the reverse. You might think someone is a monster, but later find out that they're actually quite friendly."

“ _Now_ you’re most certainly not talking about me,” Liam joked, “I am the kraken of the seven seas, the most feared and least friendly pirate captain of the Caribbean!”

His arms let go of Zayn as he raised his fists in the air, shouting at the sky. Zayn laughed, but quickly told Liam to quiet down as he’d wake up the whole crew. In truth, Zayn just wanted Liam to wrap his arms around him again.

And he did, their laughter subsiding into a comfortable silence. After a while, Zayn could swear he felt Liam bury his nose into his shoulder, but it was late and he was falling into a content drowsiness.

Liam’s hands were wrapped around his own, slowly steering the wheel with him. His chest was pressed up against Zayn’s back, sharing his warmth. For a pirate captain, Liam Payne was exceptionally kind. He let the cabin boy borrow his coat. He saved him from drowning. When he thought the world was made of shit people, there was always that one person who changed his mind. This had happened before. He _had_ to have known Liam from somewhere and it killed him that he couldn’t remember. But the captain never mentioned anything either, and so Zayn pushed the nagging thought away. He wanted to remain in this happy sleepy haze, cuddled in Liam’s warm embrace.


	5. For He Had Eyes And Chose Me

The skies the next morning were as clear as those of the night before. The stars hid themselves in the blue, overshadowed by the bright morning sun. As the course of the ship was set, and the weather proved compliant, no one had much to do. The crew sat along the edge of the ship, on the rigs of the sails, just bathing in the sun and drinking rum. Faintly, a whistling emerged from below deck.

Zayn couldn’t help himself. He was happy and he felt like whistling on his way to get seawater for Niall, so he did damn well as he pleased. If anyone had a problem, they’d have to take it up with him. Well…let’s just hope no one did.

His empty pail had a little bounce to its swing, before Zayn threw it overboard and fed more rope to fetch water. As he did, he took a casual glance around the ship and there was Liam, steering the ship.

He looked so…regal. The air was warm and he had no coat on; only a light blouse, his bare chest peeking from behind the low collar. His eyes were crinkled by his smile, grinning at something Louis said. When he caught Zayn’s stare, they brightened. He should have been alarmed, but instead, Zayn smiled gently in greeting. Liam’s own grin widened in return.

Their wordless exchange was cut short when the ship turned sharply. Zayn could hear Louis’ faint yell in the distance, as he told Liam to focus and control the fucking wheel.

Zayn momentarily lost his footing, his stomach hitting the edge of the ship as his upper half tipped towards the ocean. He saw flashes of his nightmare from last night, of falling victim to the sea.

His hands clutched at the edge of the ship with a deathly tight grip as Liam grappled with the wheel, reeling the ship back into balance. In one quick motion, Zayn pushed himself back onto the safety of the deck and crouched against where the railing met the deck, his heart begging to break out of his chest, his breathing short and quick.

_That was much too close. The closest I’d ever been to falling into the ocean, and it was probably my fault that Liam lost control of the wheel._

Zayn pried his fingers from gripping so tightly to his little bucket, his breathing was calming little by little. The crew seemed too occupied with asking “what just happened” to have noticed his panic attack, to his relief.

“What the hell is your problem, cabin boy? It was just a little tip, nothing to be worried about,” Nick Grimshaw approached Zayn. He scanned him up and down before smirking at the realization. “You afraid of a little water, boy?”

Before he could say anything, the first mate was grabbing Zayn by the collar and leaning him over the edge. The corner of the railing was digging into his back and his feet were kicking air, his hands gripping at Nick’s sleeve.

“What are you doing?!” Zayn panicked, his heart rate rocketing back up. “Put me down!”

“As you wish, cabin boy,” Nick laughed as he pushed his fist harder on Zayn’s chest. _No no no no no._

“Please—Please put me down!” Zayn’s fear turned desperate. His gripping turned into clawing—at Nick’s coat and at the ship’s railing, shaving splinters of wood into his nails. Drowning this way was much worse than drowning in a storm or through an accidental tip; his life was literally in the hands of a madman.

“Grimshaw! The hell are you doing?!”

Zayn felt another pair of hands grab at his shoulders and a pull drag him back onto the deck. The blood that had rushed into his head, combined with his fast, panicked heartbeat, gave him a cloudy dizziness that caused Zayn to fall to his hands and knees.

“Are you alright?” Liam had a hand on Zayn’s back, and a concerned look in his eyes. Zayn nodded, regardless of his pounding heartbeat and his sore fingers, rubbed raw from clawing for safety. The fact that Liam had helped him and that he cared enough to make sure Zayn was fine was _almost_ enough to forget all of the fear and all of the pain.

Liam didn’t seem to believe him and gently helped Zayn stand. And as quickly as he came to his rescue, Liam’s demeanor changed when he turned to the Nick, a fire in his eyes.

“Explain yourself.”

“I was just playing with the boy, captain,” Nick half-assed an excuse.

“Is throwing someone overboard a fucking joke to you?” Liam snapped. The rest of the crew was beginning to crowd around, forming a circle around the three of them, all intently watching the exchange.

“The boy can swim fine, can’t he?”

There was a short pause before Liam answered. Zayn saw the bones in his jaw tense, the fingers in his fist tighten. Was Liam going to burst and snap at Nick? Would he tell him that Zayn actually couldn’t swim? In front of the whole crew? Liam’s jaw unclenched as his face relaxed, but Zayn saw that his hands were still held firm. _He’s furious, but in control._ Zayn let himself revel in how attractive he found that, regardless of the inappropriateness of the moment.

“Shall we put _your_ swimming talents to the test then?” Liam finally replied, to Zayn’s relief, shifting the focus off of him and back onto the first mate. “Shall we dangle you over the edge? That should be a good laugh, won’t it boys?”

“….No, sir,” Nick clenched his jaw, attempting to hold his composure after being humiliated in front of the crew.

They chuckled tentatively, as if they felt they had to, prompted by their captain. Zayn saw the shipmaster and the boatswain emerge from the crowd; Louis asked what exactly was going on, while Harry lingered quietly at Zayn’s side.

“You okay?” he whispered as the crew informed Louis.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Zayn whispered back, touched by Harry’s concern.

“I’m all in favor of watching Grimshaw swim,” Louis laughed after hearing Liam’s suggestion, making light of the situation.

“Well, good thing you don’t get to make a decision like that, _shipmaster_ ,” Nick spat defensively.

“Yeah, well I do,” Liam retorted.

“Then fucking make it, Payne!” Grimshaw challenged. “Order me off this ship! Make me walk the plank, why don’t you? You can’t. Because you’re a poor excuse for a pirate, and an even worse excuse for a captain.”

The blood rushed to Zayn’s face, flooding from anger. He had half a mind to tell Nick to go fuck himself and have a good time in Davy Jone’s Locker as he threw him a good fist to the face. What kind of first mate said such things to a captain like Liam?

Zayn saw Liam’s jaw clench again, and although he felt sure the captain would maintain his composure and handle Nick’s insults calmly, Liam grabbed Grimshaw by the collar and shoved him up against the edge of the ship. The crew let out mixed hollers and gasps, Louis and Harry stuck deciding on whether or not throwing Nick off the ship would help Liam save face.

“You think I’m afraid of throwing you off this ship, Grimshaw?” Liam muttered through gritted teeth. He released one arm, loosening his grip on Nick’s shirt—as well as his hold on keeping Nick on board—as he turned to Zayn. “Apologize to Zayn.”

“Why should I?” Nick snarled. As Liam added an inch of pressure, the first mate very quickly changed his mind. “Fine! Fine! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay?!”

“That sound good by you, Zayn?” Liam asked.

“It’ll do,” he grinned. He couldn’t think of a better response due to the distraction of Liam’s muscular forearm holding to Nick’s shirt. Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted Nick’s apology, just so he could watch Liam’s muscles at work for a bit longer.

With a smile of satisfaction and a swift haul, Liam pulled Nick back on deck. He reached for Zayn’s bucket and tossed it to the first mate.

“You’ll be doing Zayn’s duties for the day as punishment. I’ll not hear another word on the matter.”

The crew quickly dispersed when Liam shot them a look. Then, his eyes changed from commanding to concerned when he turned to Zayn, like an overpowering bear to a puppy. Liam put a hand on Zayn’s arm, his thumb ever so slightly caressing him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Now I am,” Zayn smiled. “Thank you.”

~

“Could you stop?” Niall poked a knife to stop Zayn’s impatiently tapping foot.

“Sorry,” Zayn said and began rapping his fingers on the table instead. Nick was taking an excruciatingly long time to leave the galley, and Zayn felt he couldn’t have a solid chat with Niall when the first mate was present.

As Nick passed Zayn, dropping off the last of the food supplies and leaving to clean quarters, their eyes locked. The first mate fired a glare so spiteful, Zayn was worried he would draw his sword and gut him on the table in that very moment. But he kept walking, a small smirk peeking from his lips as he left the galley, which both confused Zayn and amplified his worries.

“Don’t give him another thought,” Niall said, looking up from his seat on the floor chopping potatoes. “Nick’s just furious that he has to do work that’s ‘below him.’ Be glad the captain saved your arse. Learn to relax, at least for today.”

“Sometimes I forget that I’m on a pirate ship,” Zayn started, “For a pirate captain, Liam isn’t entirely bloodthirsty and…” he curved his finger into a hook and growled, making Niall laugh.

“We’re not all Blackbeard, lad. But don’t be fooled; you should see Liam in a fight. He’s not afraid to do whatever it takes to protect his own and that what makes him a great captain. This…gritty and menacing stuff, it’s not him. He only tries because it’s what he thinks the crew wants him to be.

“Once upon a time,” Niall chuckled, “We were in little ol’ Tortuga a few years back, winding down after a good day’s plunder, drinking rum and fucking whores. Liam was just sitting in the corner—he doesn’t drink, it doesn’t do him good—and the mates and the crew had this idea to get him some company. And so they all pitched in and bought him this prostitute. Most beautiful in Tortuga, they said.

“Well, we didn’t see Liam until the next morning, and he wouldn’t say a thing about the whore they bought him, so everyone assumed the captain got himself laid. When I asked him myself, all he would say was that the prostitute really was one of the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Didn’t say whether or not he fucked him, but I know he didn’t. Captain Payne’s a noble man, and he’s the kind who’d treat a whore with respect. I’ll bet you anything he—“

“…paid the prostitute in full just to spend the night talking?”

Niall laughed, not looking at Zayn’s frozen face. “Yeah, I bet you that’s what he did. Probably convinced the whore to take up a better profession.”

How could he forget? How could Zayn fucking forget? It was dark that night and he could hardly see the mysterious client’s face, but still, it was no excuse forgetting a soul like that. It was Liam.The same man who refused to have sex with Zayn was the same man who made him a cabin boy. A few minutes ago, Zayn would have been relieved to satiate that burning curiosity, but now all he wanted was to forget again.

This was too much to take in. The blood drained from his face and he couldn’t utter a sound when Niall asked him what was wrong.

Did Liam remember him? He couldn’t possibly have been as dumb as Zayn and forgotten. No, Liam had to have known. Then why would he make him work on his ship? Why would he keep him here? And the most painstaking question: did his change his mind? Liam had been coming on to Zayn lately, what with the coat and the steering the ship with Zayn in his arms. His hand rubbing Zayn’s arm back up there wasn’t a mistake either. What if…what if he’d changed? People tend to do that after a few years.

Was Liam calm seas disguised as a storm? Or was he a storm somewhere past the horizon, hidden by calm seas at the stern?

 _I want to believe that he’s still good. Niall said he was, but that was years ago._ And during those years as a prostitute Zayn learned not to have too much hope; the fall was always too hard. He had to remain skeptical.

Boots trotted down the stairs, breaking Zayn’s train of thought, terrified at the thought of possibly talking to Liam. To his relief, it was Louis, a friendly grin asking for some salted pork to snack on.

“Say, Zayn,” Louis said through chewing on a mouthful of pork, “Do you want to learn how to tie some knots?”

“…Why?”

Louis shrugged. “Harry said it’s something shipmasters teach cabin boys, so might as well. Besides, what else have you got going on today?”

The shipmaster beckoned Zayn with his hand, and he looked to Niall, who gave him a face asking why the hell he’d ask for permission. Following Louis to the main deck, Zayn tried to keep his head low; he didn’t want to accidentally make eye contact with Liam.

At the bow were heaps of rope, some coiled neatly and others thrown about. Nonchalantly, Louis sat down on the deck and began grabbing a pair of ropes while chewing and sucking on the piece of salted pork. In a swift motion of dipping ends under one another, he held up what looked like rope just bunched up. But the strip of pork hanging from his proud grin had Zayn believe it was more than that.

“Full carrick bend,” Louis proudly declared as he took the pork from his mouth while flamboyantly waving the knot in his other hand. He patted at an empty patch of deck in front of him. “C’mon, sit.”

Zayn found two ends of rope and began to watch as Louis explained. Hopefully tying knots could help distract him from thinking about Liam. But as Louis tried to take him step by step through how to tie a full carrick bend, the memories from that night in Tortuga began flooding back to him. He remembered how nervous he was as he let in this confident man into his room. He remembered how that man didn’t reek of liquor like all the others did.

“Come on now,” Louis sighed, fixing Zayn’s poor excuse for a knot. “It’s not that hard—under and through the loop.”

“Sorry…”

“You’ll get it, lad,” Louis rose to his feet as he put a reassuring hand to Zayn’s back. His eyes squinted, looking at something in the distance. “If that’s the island I’m thinking of, we’re making fantastic time. I’m going to have a chat with Harry, just to make sure that’s Saint Helena and to see if we need to stop for more supplies. Keep at that knot, lad. Remember, under and through the loop.”

With a cheerful smile, the shipmaster turned to make his way to Harry’s quarters. Great. Zayn was left with his thoughts, the ones that were poisoning his ability to tie a perfectly simple knot. _Under and—under and through—Liam—fuck—under and—_

“Fuck.” Zayn ended up with a tangled mess too tight to undo. Frustrated, he cast it to the side.

“You’re not struggling with a full carrick knot, are you?” said a familiar voice, one that had Zayn’s heart skip a beat. He looked up to see Liam smiling down at him with his arm clung onto a rope tied to a sail. Everything he did or said made Zayn feel like his body was falling deeper and deeper into a black hole he knew he’d never come back from. And he really didn’t want to fall in, especially when he wasn’t sure how much of the old Liam retained in the new one. So as a result, Zayn did his best to avoid eye contact with Liam. “Here, let me help.”

_Oh no._

The captain’s fingers gently wrapped around Zayn’s hands, guiding him around the knot. Zayn let him, frozen from Liam’s touch, unsure of what to do. Was it unfailing kindness? Or lustful desire for the company of a prostitute, masked in kindness? He wasn’t stupid, he knew what other captains used cabin boys for, and it wasn’t swabbing decks.

“Are you alright?” Liam asked, noticing Zayn’s lack of response.

_No. No I’m not. I just discovered who you are to me. You’re the client I had years ago when I first started. You’re the client that showed me kindness when no one else did. You’re the client that showed me people could be good. But the thing is, I can’t be sure if you’re that same man. Years of being cheated and fooled…I can’t be sure if you’re just putting on a face, hiding something worse beneath. Why would you make me your cabin boy? Why do you touch me so tenderly now when you wouldn’t touch me then? I want to ask you...  
_

Before he retreated to the galley, a place Liam scarcely went, Zayn made sure to answer Liam,

“I’m fine.”


	6. An Hour of Love, Worldly Matters, And Direction

The cold metal in Zayn’s pocket gradually began to warm as he rubbed the coin between his thumb and forefinger, a nervous tick of he’d had since he was younger. His father always had an extra shilling in case his son needed it, and it wasn’t until Zayn grew older that he stopped asking for them. Father had always thought it was because he’d outgrown them, but Zayn just began to realize money was meant to feed bellies and pay debts, not calm childish fears. But this coin…Zayn would never trade it for all the food in the world. It was simply a penny, the face worn down to a vague shadow, but it was the last coin his father gave to him. Zayn would cherish it like the coin was once again his father’s hand in his, wisely guiding him through the shithole that the world was. 

And at the very center of the world’s shithole was this most putrid and foul town known as Tortuga.

Propped up between a tall tower of crates and barrels, Zayn watched as fat sweaty pigs disguised as men toppled out of the inns, drunk and lewd with a whore on each arm. The friction between his fingers and the coin grew hotter as his nervousness increased. He had to eat, and the only way to buy his food was to sell himself to one of these repulsive human beings. He’d done it many times before, he should be used to it by now. But the sweat of his palms and the rapid beat of his heart begged to differ.

Just as he was about to approach a half-conscious portly man, Zayn recognized someone down a dark alley, a man slobbering up a strumpet’s neck. Tortuga was a crude and strange place filled with a variety of crude and strange people, but he couldn’t forget the face missing an ear, a client from several nights before. He looked like a rat, and he stole like one, too.

“Hey!” Zayn shouted at the man. “I want my fucking coat back, you asshole!”

He began to scuffle with the rat-like man, grabbing at his collar and trying pathetically to shove him up against the building wall. Unfortunately for Zayn, the size of his muscles weren’t matched with the size of his anger. The rat-like man pushed him back with ease, forcing the air out of his lungs. As Zayn fell to the ground, the man kicked at his stomach, leaving him coughing and wheezing in pain. He felt warm gooey spit project onto his cheek before the man walked away laughing.

He was defeated and wanted nothing more to go back to his brothel room. He might as well starve for the night, his spirits beaten. As he wiped the spit off his face and brushed the dirt off his trousers, a different man approached him. This repulsive gentleman had five teeth collectively, and his single front tooth was hanging onto his gums by a thread. His white beard was stained yellow around the lips from beer.

“You, uh…offer the services I’m looking for?” He asked, as he ravenously admired Zayn from head to toe.

_You might as well get it over with, Zayn. You could do much worse. And you need the money._

“Yeah,” Zayn reluctantly replied. “It’s twenty shillings for a night in my quarters. If you want to get rough, it’s an extra five.” It used to be sixpence, until one client got too violent. He figured better be safe than sorry.

The snaggletooth hesitated before saying, “not sure if he likes it rough…” and finally shrugging, handing Zayn a small drawstring sack filled with coins. It was definitely more than twenty shillings. The man then pointed to someone sitting at a table in an inn.

“The men and I pitched in for that guy. He’s the one you’ll be treatin’ tonight.” He nodded at the money. “That’s just half. You’ll get the other half when we hear the captain’s had a good time.”

As the snaggletooth man left to bring his colleague over, Zayn took note of this new client. To his relief, he looked much… _cleaner._ And that was enough for Zayn.

As he neared him, Zayn was surprised to see that this young man was a captain. He looked about Zayn’s own age, but the way he stood, he stood like he was years older and aged by experience. But behind his brown eyes flickered a childlike soul. Zayn had to try his best to avoid growing a liking to him…first appearances weren’t always good indicators of a person’s true self. He found that out the hard way.

Their introduction was a short one, as the client briefly shook Zayn’s hand before his snaggletooth colleague left. Zayn took a deep breath through the nose as he faked confidence, gently taking the client’s hand as he guided him to his quarters in the brothel. He hoped the young man couldn’t feel how clammy his palms were.

The client was quiet, which would have worried Zayn if it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t reek of liquor as all his customers typically did. As Zayn turned to look and assess him, their glances locked. He whipped his head back forward, glad that the dark of the night masked his glowing red face.

_What is your problem? Stop building your hopes up. You know what always happens. It’s just one night, and then he’s gone._

He closed the door behind him as the client curiously drifted towards Zayn’s desk rather than his bed. Zayn was intrigued, watching him while his strong fingers traced the edge of the wood. While he tried hard not to like this client, he could at least admit that he was different from all the others. Zayn cleared his throat of nervousness before reciting his prices and rules again. He had it down to a science, with a year’s worth of practice.

“So it’s twenty shillings for the night, which was already paid for by your friend. But it’s an extra five if you want to get rough. Other…eccentricities will cost more, if you have any.” Zayn hesitated, waiting for this client to confess some strange fetish for dressing like an infant or eating insects. This young man was much too good to be true.

But the client remained silent, his hand absently gliding across Zayn’s desk, his eyes observed the room with interest. To be honest, the silence was probably much worse than openly admitting to a fetish. What was _going on_ in his mind? 

Zayn was tempted to rub the coin in his pocket again, but held his hands in timid fists as he slowly brought himself closer to the client. Seeing as the young man didn’t have any objections, Zayn thought he might as well start. He needed the money. The first half of the payment was heavily gratuitous, but the second half could buy him a new coat or a new pair of boots.

His hands gently tugged at the client’s tucked shirt, pulling it from his trousers and slipping his fingers softly beneath the fabric and up the man’s chest. Zayn took a moment to revel in what his hand found. It wasn’t often that he got to touch such smooth skin and firm muscles.

The earthly scent radiating off the young man’s body was intoxicating. It was a musk that made Zayn want to rip off both their clothes and take him up against a wall. But he had to go slowly. He found that most clients preferred it that way, when he teased them and made them tremble with anticipation.

Zayn hurried the client’s tunic over his head, giving himself a moment to admire how the blue moonlight illuminated the ridges in his chest and his stomach. For once, Zayn wanted to touch his client and he wanted his client to touch him. But the young man stood still, rigid and unresponsive, and that made Zayn ache for him even more.

Carefully, as though too sudden a touch would frighten the young man away, Zayn cupped his hand around the client’s neck, thumb gently grazing his short stubble. With a tender pull, Zayn brought his face and their lips closer.

He never had the opportunity to savor the moment before a kiss. There was a pause in the air as time stopped, two pairs of lips growing warm as they both waited to share the same breath.

“I can’t.”

The client abruptly removed Zayn’s hand from his neck hand as he took a step back. His face was shrouded in the shadows of the room, making it much harder for Zayn to figure out why he would snuff out the flame that was burning between their breaths.

“I can’t do this,” he repeated. “It’s not right.”

Not only did Zayn ache to relive that moment they shared, he realized at his most logical core that he needed the second half of his payment. Zayn didn’t want to force himself on his client, but he had to try his best to change his mind.

“What’s not right?” He donned a playful voice, leaning into the client once again. Zayn’s fingers traced bare chest as he neared their faces, trying to get a kiss in. His customers always told him how good he was with his tongue, and this would be a good time to put it to use. His nose teasingly brushed at the young man’s neck, taking in the strong musky pheromones.

To Zayn’s dismay, the client pulled himself away again.

“Look, I can’t have sex with you,” he confessed. Zayn couldn’t quite see his face, but the moonlight through his window shone right on his neck, where Zayn noticed a small brown freckle.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not because I don’t find you attractive!” the client held up his hands defensively. “Anybody should consider themselves lucky to have sex with someone like you. But I can’t, at least not like this. I’d want it to be on your own terms and not because my mates paid you or because you feel like you need to.”

The client reached into his pocket to pull out another sack of coins and tossed it to Zayn. The weight was much heavier than the first bag. Zayn stood, shocked, both at what the client said and at the money he gave to him. People just _didn’t_ say or do stuff like that. Not from his experience.

“I can’t take this—“ he began to protest.

“Keep it. Buy yourself a nice meal. Pay off all the people you owe. Then get on a ship and get out of here,” the client chuckled. “Tortuga’s no place for a soul like you.”

The young man slipped his shirt back on and he was nearly halfway out the door when Zayn found himself yelling,

“Wait!”

The client paused and Zayn stumbled over his words. He didn’t really plan to say anything. For whatever reason, he just wanted the young man to stay for as long as possible.

“Your friends, they paid me more than enough for a full night and all you got was barely an hour,” Zayn continued and gestured the second bag of money in his hand. “And adding this? We don’t have to do anything, I just...feel like you might as well get your money’s worth. You could, uh, stay and chat? I’m told I’m quite a good listener.”

There was a heavy pause as the client contemplated, before finally closing the door in front of him. _Okay, Zayn, you got him to stay. Now what the hell are you going to talk about?_

Initially, Zayn started with awkward small talk and small questions. It was the client who opened up, eased the tension in his tiny room. Zayn admired how casual this young man was, how hours passed and their conversation flowed smoothly as they shared laughs and secrets like children. Zayn learned that the man never reeked of liquor because he never drank—he didn’t like the taste or the feel of it burning through his body. Zayn was less open about his secrets, but he let the young man peruse through the drawers of his desk, finding his sketches and admiring them with loud enthusiasm that Zayn received with a bashful grin.

Morning came too soon, and the client sleepily rose from his chair and grabbed his coat from the post of Zayn’s bed.

“Don’t forget what I said,” the young man spoke softly, a familiar and friendly air between them now. “Tonight, I got to know you and I see you’re a good lad. Tortuga’s only going to burn that down the longer you stay. Get yourself out of this town while you can.”

Before Zayn could argue his reasons for staying, the client was gone. After hours of talking, he realized that he hadn’t even thought to exchange names with the young man. 

Rising up from his bed, arms wrapped around his knees, Zayn looked at the bags of money sitting on his desk. He grabbed one and tossed it lightly in his hand, the weight growing heavier with each catch. In just one night, he had to reevaluate everything he thought he knew about people. Surely, they were all violent monsters, plump with rum and driven by sexual desire. Zayn spent his whole life learning what it was like to be disillusioned and now miraculously, this young man would just waltz in with his kind words and generous gestures? No, he couldn’t have that.

Zayn felt a light reignite in the empty hole of his heart, and hard as he tried, he couldn’t extinguish it. Fuck that client. Fuck him for making Zayn feel hope again. Hope was a slippery and endless climb out of a pit he knew he'd always fall back into. Zayn had gotten used to just letting go and letting the pain turn him numb. But this client made him want to change that. He made him want to feel something again.

He had half a mind to gather his things and chase after him. Didn’t his friend say he was a captain? Maybe he couldget on _his_ ship and get the fuck out of this place. Maybe that man could be the one to whisk him away.

As he reached for his bag, the dock outside his window caught his eye. The ships were lined one after another, swaying calmly to the light wind. But Zayn knew better. The seas didn’t stay docile for long, and the terrifying memories of his first time riding a ship returned. He always had that fear of drowning, of turning victim to the sea, but back then he'd also always had his father to comfort him.

He slid his hand into his pocket, in hopes that his father’s coin would give him the courage to run after that client and get on a ship and get out of his poisonous lifestyle once and for all. But his fingers found nothing, clawing at an empty pocket.

Panicked, Zayn frantically pulled out both pockets, desperately scouring the floor and violently flipping his straw mattress. Nothing. How could he possibly have lost his father’s coin?

Then his mind flashed through where he’d been, retracing his steps, when he remembered the one-eared man with the face of a rat. Without a doubt, he knew that he had stolen it. And unless Zayn grew an extra foot long and wide in muscle, he’d never be able to fight back for it.

Before, Zayn never would have boarded a ship without his father. That client had given him enough courage to try, but losing that coin made him realize that he still needed Yaser. Sure, his father wasn’t around anymore to comfort him, but having that coin would have been good enough.

Frustrated, he threw himself back onto his bed. He promised himself that he wouldn’t stay in Tortuga for long. As soon as he got over his stupid fear of the ocean, which would probably subside in like what? A couple months?

~

It had been several years. Zayn lost count. He had a fantastic memory for the things that mattered, but he hardly wanted to keep track of the years he was left in that shithole.

What ate at him, what gnawed at the back of his mind, was how in the hell he forgot Liam. The young man who almost changed his life, who gave him hope and made him believe that there _were_ good people in the world.

But it had been years since Zayn had seen that last flicker of hope. He had plenty of time to get himself disillusioned again, to build his walls back up. And this time he wouldn’t let them fall so easily.


	7. The Great Contention of the Skies and Seas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was heavily inspired by Addicted by Morgan Page ft. Greg Laswell - give a listen when (if) you read this chapter :)

Images of Zayn replayed in Liam’s mind over and over as he twiddled with a loose piece of rope between his fingers. The way Zayn dodged Liam’s gaze, the way his hand snapped away from Liam’s, he just couldn’t figure out what exactly sparked this kind of reaction. Just a few days earlier, the two of them were laughing at drunk Louis and drunk Harry, who were singing loudly and hanging off each other’s shoulders. And now, for whatever reason, Zayn wouldn’t even look at Liam.

“Hey, _captain,_ “ Louis called from the wheel, snapping Liam out of his confused haze. “You know, Grimshaw is going to give you grief for not doing your job.”

“Oh, yeah I can take over,” but before Liam could put his fingers to the spokes, he paused. “Actually, I need to take care of something first.”

It’d been what? Three? Four days since he’d last spoken to Zayn? Since Zayn even bothered to look at him? He’d had enough. Liam needed to speak to him; he couldn’t bear this tension between them much longer.

The sun was high in the sky, but slightly dipping to the west, meaning around this time, Zayn would be cleaning quarters. It’s not like Liam kept a mental schedule of the cabin boy’s chores…but he did enjoy admiring how the setting sun lit up Zayn’s cheekbones every evening.

He had checked all the quarters save for Harry’s. Through the door, Liam could hear the boatswain speaking to someone.

“The letter N looks a bit like this—no curves, two straight lines connected by a slash,” Harry laughed. “Yeah a bit like that, except completely different.” Harry’s laugh was followed by Zayn’s. It was a warm chuckle that made Liam’s heart skip. His hand started to push open the door, but Liam realized he hadn’t prepared anything to say.

“Harry! I wanted to ask you something,” he blurted.

_Wrong person, idiot._

There was a pause as Harry lifted his head, but it was Zayn that Liam wanted to look at him. The cabin boy kept his face focused on his quill and parchment, as though he hadn’t heard him come through the door.

“Learning how to write, huh?” Liam cleared his throat and donned a fake confidence and a stretched smile. “Good thing you’re not using your left hand. Cowell used to beat me until I wrote with my right, so luckily we won’t have to do the same to you.”

Liam chuckled and Harry smiled at the joke, but Zayn’s face remained emotionless and unresponsive, slowly breaking at Liam’s confidence.

“Uh, so,” Liam continued painfully, “What letter were you just at?”

Nothing. Just agonizing silence.

If it weren’t for Harry exchanging looks with Liam, he might as well have been invisible. It was like he was dead, a ghost trying to get a message across to the living and failing miserably.

“So…did you still have a question for me?” Harry slowly asked, his eyes still curiously analyzing the air between Zayn and Liam before finally resting on Liam. “Because if it’s about the pickles supply, I made sure we picked up a new stock in Saint Helena.”

Liam knew that Harry was perfectly aware that he didn’t give two fucks about the pickles supply. He knew that Harry was just asking the question as a filler to help out Liam in this terribly awkward situation.

“Thank you,” Liam nodded, “That’s what I came to ask. Louis needs his pickles, you know.” _No he doesn’t._ Liam cleared his throat once again, in hopes that Zayn would just _look_ at him. But once again, the attempt failed, chipping at his heart. “…I’ll be on my way then.”

He bid the two goodbye, lingering for a moment longer, giving Zayn one last chance to just _acknowledge_ him. But he doesn’t. And Liam could feel this killing him from the inside out. He wanted to lunge at Zayn, he wanted to hold his face in his hands and scream.

_Just look at me! Why won’t you look at me? What did I do? What can I do to get you to just look at me? Whatever I’ve done to cause this, I’ll never do it again, I swear!_

But he pulled the door shut, pursing his lips to avoid saying what he wanted to say. They were a month to the Indian Ocean anyway. _I could get through a month of this_ , he lied to himself.

Quietly broken, Liam made his way back to the wheel, but not before noticing the wind picking up in the sails and breezing through his hair. He looked up and surely enough there were dark clouds forming at the edge of the horizon. They were far, but Liam knew storms traveled faster than they appeared.

“Can you believe it?” Louis exclaimed from the wheel. Liam could see him trying to hold in his excitement. “We’ve been rather lucky not having any storms up until now.”

“Lucky?” Nick scoffed as he came up behind Liam. “Storm’s all bottled up; means this one’s going to be pretty nasty.”

And neither Louis nor Liam would ever admit it, but the first mate was right. They hardly remembered what the sky had looked like before it was masked in black clouds from one horizon to another. The heavy rainfall and the angry mists spraying into their faces and burning into their eyes made it difficult to see. Harry’s voice could be heard screaming at the crew to hoist the sails, and they did so with powerful resilience and determination.

They were men unafraid of being struck by the lightning attracted to the tall masts. They were men who pushed back onto their feet when the violent waves knocked them down. They were men who made sure their fellow pirate wouldn’t fall overboard when the ship toppled a little too far to the left. And Liam couldn’t have been more proud to have a crew like them. He didn’t have to worry about inspiring his men to want to live; they did that well enough on their own. It was his job to make sure they actually stayed alive.

“Liam, you’re going the wrong way,” Louis yelled through the storm while holding a map that was begging to fly from his hands. He tried showing Liam the course, but the paper flapped violently, making it impossible to read. “We’re supposed to be going south, you’re going back north!”

“He should be going back north!” Nick screamed in Liam’s ear as he berated Louis. “The storm’s coming from the south and we need to get away from it, not sail into it! Keep steering north!”

“Are you fucking daft?!” Louis gripped and shook the map. “The winds are too strong! Go north and we’ll be delayed another month!”

“Our men are drowning out there!” Nick boomed.

“Should I lower the sails?” Harry’s voice yelled to Liam between Nick and Louis’ arguments.

“Why don’t you ask Nick and Louis when they sort it out?” Liam shouted, to which Nick quickly replied,

“You’re the fucking captain! Are we going north or south—“

“Liam, we can’t afford to get put back a month! There’s no place to get supplies and we’re already low—“

“Lower the sails? Or keep them up—“

Voices were screaming into his ears left and right, the mist was spraying into his eyes and onto his cheeks and Liam’s arms ached struggling to keep the wheel from spinning out. He hadn’t had a second to think before Niall appeared, adding another voice to the plethora of cries. But it was when he mentioned Zayn that Liam’s hearing was suddenly focused and clear.

“I need help holding down the galley,” Niall shouted through the rain, “Have you seen Zayn?”

“No,” Liam yelled in response. In fact, Liam hadn’t seen Zayn since the storm began. What if he’d—no. Liam refused to let himself think such a thing could happen to Zayn. But it was a possibility. His hands nearly lost grip of the wheel as images of Zayn helplessly getting thrown about in the ocean flashed through his head. But he held on, resolute.

“Harry? Have you seen Zayn?” Liam _hoped_. Harry had been the last person with him. But through the opaque rain, he saw Harry’s head shake no and again he imagined Zayn’s lifeless body floating somewhere beneath the ocean.

“What do you need the stupid cabin boy for?” Nick bellowed. “I told him to save the supplies in the cargo hold.”

“Are you fucking mad?” Liam yelled, before trading places with Nick, who happened to be the person closest to the wheel. The ship was particularly resilient, but everyone knew the hold was the first place to get flooded during a storm. Everyone but Zayn.

“What?!” Louis exclaimed, “You’re giving him the wheel? He’s going to get us off course!”

“So lower the sails?” Harry pressed.

Liam ignored them, honestly not caring about where the ship was headed or whether or not the sails needed to be lowered. All he cared about was Zayn and if he was safe. Idiot Nick, for putting him down there. Liam hoped he wasn’t too late.

To his relief, the hold was only filled up to his ankles in seawater. It was dark on a good day, but during a storm it was especially pitch black. He couldn’t see Zayn but he heard trekking splashes to his far left. Eventually, his eyes adjusted to make out a slim silhouette stacking boxes on top of one another. Liam let his heart breathe for just a moment, happy that Zayn wasn’t drowning.

“Zayn!” Liam’s voice echoed through the hold as he drudged his way towards the cabin boy. “You can’t be down in the cargo hold during a storm.”

“Why not?” were the first words Zayn said to Liam after eras of silence. “Nick told me we needed to save as many supplies as we can. We’re lo—“

“I know that!” Liam was suddenly angry. Angry that he was right. Angry that he was stupid enough to risk his life. Angry that he had been ignoring him. “You don’t think I know? Did _you_ know— _Zayn—_ that if this ship tips, you could get crushed by the cargo? Did _you_ know that the mast could break and trap you down here? Did you know the hold could flood and you could _drown?_ ”

Liam was fucking pissed at this—this _moron,_ this absolute _idiot._ He was tired of saving this lad’s ass all the time, tired of being worried.

Blood was boiling to his ears and in his blind anger, his lips met Zayn’s. There was a moment of pause from Zayn, who wasn’t sure how to react. But Liam didn’t care. In all the chaos and confusion, all he wanted was Zayn.

To his surprise, Zayn pulled Liam in. The rain on his skin melted to sweat, both from his anger and from pressing up against Zayn, who was warm from running around the hold. Zayn’s hand slipped underneath Liam’s shirt, wet fabric clinging tightly to his body.

Liam had always thought about what it would be like to kiss Zayn, but he never imagined it’d be like this. Zayn knew exactly where to touch Liam, one hand clutched to the small of his back and the other clawing at the back of his head. And his tongue—his tongue knew how to dance with Liam’s, how to move in sync. Liam wondered how Zayn learned to kiss so well.

Liam had Zayn pressed up against a stack of crates, his hands holding to Zayn’s hips, never wanting to let go. This felt nice, like their lips belonged. Why had he waited so long?

The ship leaned too far, and their footing and rhythm were thrown off, Liam stumbling backwards.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the contours of Zayn’s face. His breathing was hard and his eyes were staring deep into Liam’s. And it was those eyes. He’d seen them before, as it was another pair of the same innocent godlike eyes that made him feel so…human. Like Zayn had to be treated with the utmost respect, and Liam was just a pitiful mess of sins and mistakes.

_You took advantage of him. He didn’t even want to look at you, and you forced him to kiss you? You’re trash, Liam._

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he bowed his head and rushed out of the cargo hold. He was too forward, too vile. Liam was scum just like the rest of those pirates, and Zayn couldn’t possibly want anything to do with someone like him. He had made that clear this afternoon in Harry’s quarters.

But the way they kissed…the way he kissed him back…

~

His fingers delicately traced his lips, the ghost of Liam’s kiss faintly lingering. Zayn didn’t know how to feel. He was happy, and he was angry.

It was like a high finally satiated. Zayn had wanted for so long to kiss Liam, and it was more than he ever hoped for. Just being held by Liam’s strong arms and pressing against his rough lips and playing with his warm tongue…it was all he needed. But like any other addiction, the aftermath left Zayn feeling deprived and used.

Zayn’s fear that Liam was using him seemed to be more than affirmed, especially the way Liam kissed him and then left him here, cold and alone. He wouldn’t even look at him, like Zayn was trash. Worthless, dirty, prostitute trash.

_Let’s be honest, you loved it. You love being used and thrown away. Might as well let him fuck you. You know you’ll enjoy it, and it’s all you’re good for anyway._

~

Liam was lost in thought, still unsure if he should go back to the hold. He felt awful for leaving Zayn alone, but he felt worse for taking advantage of him. By the time he reached the main deck, Liam decided it was too late and if he was going to walk away, he might as well keep walking. The damage was done.

To his surprise, the skies were calm and the heavy rain died into staggered drizzles, when he remembered that he’d given Nick the wheel. The first mate was beaming proudly, while Louis was visibly distraught.

“You should be thankful, Tomlinson,” Nick scoffed.

“Should I? God knows how far behind we are now! And imagine how much of the supplies survived,” Louis snapped before Liam caught his eye. “Speaking of, where have you been? Did you find Zayn?”

“Looks like he definitely ‘found’ Zayn,” Nick’s eyes scanned Liam, staring at his disheveled hair and the part of his shirt that was hanging untucked from his belt.

“You need to start taking some fucking responsibility, Payne. You left your crew when they needed you most, and for what? Some quick side fuck? Honestly, Captain—should I even call you that?” Nick mocked a laugh at Liam. “I would have done a much better job. We would be rolling in riches right now, not barely living off hard tack and salted beef in the middle of nowhere. If Cowell had made me captain—“

“Well he didn’t, did he?!” Liam snapped. For the last four years, he’d put up with Nick’s constant complaints and dreams of what would have been. He’d put on a confident face, as though being told daily that he was—and never will be—as good as Captain Cowell didn’t bother him. “He chose me because he _trusted_ me. I don’t know who you killed to become his first mate, because he would _never_ let you captain this ship. You were a cocky, selfish asshole then, and you’re a cocky, selfish asshole now.”

Fuming, Liam noticed his crew was staring up at the commotion from the main deck. Not wanting to be gaped at in shock by the crew or his mates, Liam marched off to his quarters, sufficiently avoiding any responsibility that would surely come after his outburst. What was going to happen now? Nick was going to be furious, that much was certain. Liam could just maroon him on the next island…he should have done that ages ago.

The door slammed behind him as he threw himself onto his bed. As the residual rage eventually calmed, Liam let his fingers find his face, tracing where Zayn’s lips touched his.

He wanted more. He wanted to bite at Zayn’s lips, to bury his face in his warm neck. He wanted to kiss him in more places than just his face. He wanted to love Zayn.

But was it appropriate? Would Zayn even want him?

Liam pushed aside any thoughts about getting Zayn’s permission, seeing as it was impossible to get the cabin boy to look at him, let alone kiss him again. Ugh, but with those lips? Liam knew them from somewhere. It had to have been someplace dark and cold, as it was the ambiance of the cargo hold that confirmed Liam’s suspicions. There was no doubt this time. Liam knew Zayn, and Zayn knew Liam.

He hoped to God that whatever memory he’d forgotten—that Zayn apparently remembered—wasn’t a terrible memory that sparked Zayn’s hesitance towards him. Liam had committed plenty of sins, and already forgetting Zayn was one of them.

 ~

Night had fallen and the ship was quiet, to Liam’s surprise. No one had come by his quarters, neither Nick to fight him or Louis to comfort him. He should have been disappointed, but he was relieved to have a few hours of silence with no one but his own thoughts. The crew was probably planning mutiny and he wouldn’t have minded so long as they left him alone for a moment while he perused through Captain Cowell’s old journals.

It was the rushed footsteps coming towards his door that made Liam put a journal down and reach for his cutlass. It was going to be a close fight, but he was sure he’d win against Nick. Liam may have been less experienced, but he was younger and stronger than Grimshaw.

The door opened to reveal not the big-nosed first mate, but Zayn. His eyes were fuming with anger and his breath huffed from running.

“What’s wrong?” Liam asked.

“Don’t act so innocent,” Zayn snapped.

At a loss for words, Liam just furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Don’t give me that! I know you’re using me, like captains use their little cabin boys,” Zayn cried, visibly shaken and hands clutched in fists.

“I’m not—“

“I thought you were different.”

Even though he’s still unsure what Zayn is talking about, those words hit Liam like a tidal wave. Somehow, he had disappointed Zayn and all he wanted to do was fix that.

“I’m sorry, I still don’t know—“

“You’re that guy! You were my client, a few years back. You paid me _not_ to have sex with you. You told me ‘Tortuga’s no place for a soul like you,’” Zayn said through clenched teeth and a voice broken from grief. “ _Remember?”_

Like clawing through a fogged maze, the memory gradually came back to Liam in blurry pieces. He remembered the old drunken pirate that convinced him a prostitute would be good for him. He remembered trying hard keep the nervous sweat from his palms. There was a hand pulling him confidently to a dark room. Slowly that hand became a face. He remembered how the light of the moon lit that face, contoured his cheekbones and outlined his lips. He remembered how much he wanted to kiss those lips and hold those cheeks in his hands. He remembered how this prostitute knew how to work Liam, touching him in the right places to make his body tense up, to make him crave for sex.

But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Someone like him, a pirate, didn’t deserve to. This young man, about his age, was stuck in a shithole and just needed a little help to get out. Liam should have taken him with him, take him to England. But stupid young Liam just paid the lad and left without even asking for his name.

Zayn. It was Zayn.

“You know what?” the cabin boy spoke, tired of Liam’s endless silence. “I should have known. I’ve spent my whole life getting treated like shit, and maybe…maybe I deserve it.”

Those words put Liam back into reality. No. In no world did Zayn deserve to be treated like shit. Zayn was perfect. It was Liam that deserved hell. Liam was the waste of space.

Zayn laughed but it wasn’t like his other laughs. It was lost. Self-loathing. Empty.

“I went from being a prostitute to a fucking cabin boy. I’m worthless, damaged goods. No one would actually want me—“

“That’s not true,” Liam finally spoke. “I-I didn’t mean to use you. In fact, the opposite. What happened in the hold, I wasn’t myself. I wanted to nothing but to give you respect. You’re _not_ damaged and you’re _not_ worthless.”

“How do I even know you’re telling the truth?” Zayn’s voice held strong but Liam could see tears building up in his eyes. “How can I trust you?”

“I don’t expect you to,” Liam said. “The way your life has turned out, I understand if you don’t trust anyone. But Zayn, you deserve the world. That’s what I wanted you to have then, and that’s what I want you to have now. Nothing’s changed, I promise.”

At that moment, Liam realized he shouldn’t have been standing that close to Zayn, but the cabin boy wasn’t backing away in repulsion of Liam either.

Liam went in for a kiss, aching for the taste of Zayn’s mouth. Their lips moved in sync again, every motion of the tongue coming back naturally. Liam pulled away, realizing that he had once again forced another kiss on Zayn.

“Sorry, I meant to ask if it was okay for me to—“

Zayn smiled and tugged at Liam’s shirt, pulling his face in for another kiss. Liam took the opportunity. He wanted to do so many things to him, for him. He wanted to give Zayn the kind of love that the cabin boy had been so deprived of for so long.

Liam pulled Zayn’s shirt off, momentarily admiring the sculpture of his body before smothering it with kisses from his collarbone to his hips. Liam teased at the V of Zayn’s stomach, looking up at him before pushing him to his bed.

He wanted to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to be one of those drunken animalistic brutes that Zayn probably had more than enough of. But at the same time, the way his skin glowed in the candlelight, the way Zayn’s breathing got heavy when Liam took him into his mouth and the way he arched his back in pleasure…Liam didn’t drink, but he’d imagine this was what being drunk must have felt like. It was a warm ecstasy, blood pulsing to his cheeks. Just watching Zayn bite his lip and grip at Liam’s bedsheets was enough for him.

Liam slipped a wet finger, then two, slowly into Zayn, rubbing at his spot. He might not have been as experienced as Zayn, but it was that spot that Liam knew always rendered men helpless. Like he predicted, Zayn was throwing his head back in pleasure as his body tensed, a few whimpers escaping from his bitten lip. Liam wondered how many—if any—clients made Zayn feel like this.

It was when a load moan escaped from Zayn’s lips that Liam had to stop and smile, as he never heard a sound so pleasing to his ear. As he slipped off his shirt and trousers, Liam saw Zayn’s breathing was short and his hair was matted against his hot forehead. Liam knew he was close, but he had to ask at least one more time,

“Are you sure?”

Zayn saved his breath, simply nodding, before Liam slid into him. He didn’t want to hurt Zayn, going as slow and gentle as possible. With every inch, Zayn held his breath as his fingers clawed into Liam’s back.

When Liam’s full length was in him, Zayn began grinding his hips and arching his back so that Liam’s penis hit him in that spot just right. Zayn’s heavy breathing turned to loud moans, biting hard at Liam’s shoulder to muffle himself. Liam pushed harder and faster, the sounds escaping from Zayn’s throat practically enough to make him come.

But he waited. Waited for Zayn to tighten and waited for his hands to really _dig_ at Liam’s back. Only then does Liam let himself come into Zayn, the two of them releasing every frustration and every emotion simultaneously.

Liam’s arms were immediately weak as he collapsed next to Zayn, the two of them left shuddering and gasping for air. It had been a few minutes of nothing but heavy breathing before Liam turned to Zayn, pulling his chin towards him for a kiss, sweet and tender.

Liam wanted to forget the chaos that lay outside those doors. He wanted to believe that nothing existed but the two of them in this tiny little room. As he held Zayn tightly in his arms, he wanted him to feel loved. He wanted him to feel _safe_.


	8. One More Exit Flies On By

The sun was burning through the thick glass of the captain’s quarters. This feeling felt oddly familiar to Zayn, as his eyes pried open and tried to roll away from the light, there was certainly something different. The bed he lay in wasn’t made of straw, and the covers were thick and warm. He then remembered that this wasn’t his lonely brothel, that he was on a pirate ship surrounded by people. People who cared.

He remembered Liam. Zayn had slept with Liam.

The night was wonderfully spent, as he was surprised at how great Liam could make him feel. Sure, Zayn had slept with many men and many women, but none of them…cared. There was no spark between them; it always felt numb and empty. But Liam. Something about Liam left a lingering flickering flame.

Terrified that it might all be a dream, Zayn panicked and his hand found Liam’s arm wrapped around his chest. His tough build was enveloping Zayn, their legs tangled underneath the covers.

Liam was still asleep, undisturbed by Zayn’s stirring as he could feel his steady breath brush against the back of his neck. Not wanting to wake him, Zayn kept his movements to a quiet stroke of Liam’s arm. He admired the prominence of his veins and the contrast of his tattoos in the sunlight. Following the path of the arrows, Zayn’s fingers found another mark at the top of Liam’s wrist.

_P_

The skin was too pink and too torn to be a tattoo. He’d seen this before, knowing full well that it didn’t stand for Payne.

His thumb stroked the mark gently and carefully, thinking of Liam being branded as a pirate for the first time. How old was he? Did it hurt long?

Footsteps were heard quickly approaching the doors, startling Zayn. Was he supposed to get up and leave? It was too late for that. Liam’s body was big enough to shield Zayn from view, so he pretended to be asleep as the doors burst open.

“Oi, Captain! Seeing as we’re farther north, I was wondering—“

Liam jerked awake, a cold breeze creeping up Zayn’s spine as their bodies separated. His façade seemed to have worked, as Liam was trying as quietly as possible to slip his arm from underneath Zayn.

_He’s definitely seen me._ But Zayn kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady. He wasn’t entirely sure what he meant to achieve by pretending to sleep, but he’d rather not have to explain himself to whoever it was that had entered the quarters. 

The volume of Louis’ voice decreased drastically, but Zayn could still hear him as Liam pulled him closer towards the doors.

“What the hell is this?” Louis hissed. “Is that Zayn?”

“It’s actually quite an interesting story—“

“Look, I don’t care,” Louis snapped, “Any other time, I’d be fine with it. But think for a second, Liam. Is this the right time to be having a _side fuck,_ especially a trip like this? When the crew needs you most? When we’ve made no profit and are barely living off scraps to get by?”

There was only silence, before Zayn heard Liam say,

“I know how this looks, but I promise you, it doesn’t mean anything. I can captain this ship and trust me, he’s not that much of a distraction.”

_What the fuck?_

Zayn had half a mind to come out of his “sleep” and ask Liam exactly that. But before he could, the two men had taken their conversation outside, which had transitioned into something about arctic winds, or whatever. Zayn couldn’t care less.

The room was quiet but his ears were ringing with Liam’s words. The fuck did he mean that Zayn wasn’t that much of a distraction? Just that night he was going on about how he was the same man Zayn knew in the brothel and how he really did care for him. His words then sounded sincere, but so did his words to Louis. Which was the lie?

Zayn wasn’t sure if he should be pissed at Liam or at himself. It was his own fault after all. He had opened the gates for Liam, and now he could feel the fortress collapsing on him.

As he rose to look at the time, Zayn was suddenly aware of how cold and naked he was, lying alone in Liam’s bed. But the clock told him he was late for chores in the galley, and the blood came rushing back as he hurried his clothes back on. His left boot was barely on as he stumbled out of the captain’s quarters and headed down below the deck.

“Late,” Niall threw a spoon at Zayn’s head.

“Sorry, I’m—“

“Don’t care and it doesn’t matter,” Niall was oddly not preoccupied with chopping vegetables or stirring a stew. The only thing in his hand was a mug of ale. “The supplies are mostly damaged and whatever isn’t damaged is too low to count.”

“Wait, so what’s left?”

Niall shrugged, “Salted pork, some hard tack and barrels upon barrels of rum and ale.” 

Zayn stood dumbfounded at the reality of their food supply. As the dishes were done and the galley was practically spotless, he waited for Niall to give him something to do.

“There’s nothing, lad,” Niall said, as if to read Zayn's mind. “Go see if Harry needs any help or if you want to start some writing lessons early. How far have you gone?”

“We just finished the alphabet yesterday, so he’s teaching me how to write my name now,” he beamed weakly and the cook smiled proudly in return. As Zayn turned to go, Niall added,

“Make sure you fix your shirt and fix your hair, you’re a fucking mess.”

Bashfully, Zayn tucked his tunic into his trousers and patted down his mass of black hair. The cook only shared a knowing look that wouldn’t tell a soul.

Zayn barely stepped a foot out of the gun deck when he heard that familiar voice. Liam was standing at the forecastle, arms pointing at the sails and gesturing loudly towards his crew. As Zayn approached him, he could hear an exchange between the captain and the mates discussing the states of the ship and damages retained from the storm. 

“…we’re going to need a new topmast, as well as someone to patch up the gaping hole on the main sail,” said Louis. “The railing on the quarter deck is pretty badly cracked, as well as a slight crack in the hull. Nothing to cry about, but better be safe than sorry.”

“Which topmast?” Liam asked with a hint of exhaustion, absentmindedly running a frustrated fist through his hair. 

“The main one, sir.”

“Right. How’s the hold?”

“Still flooded, but I’ve got two men down there draining it,” Nick answered.

Liam nodded in approval, but his face remained stoic. “Where’s the nearest dock?”  

“Well,” Louis contemplated, “It’s hard to tell where exactly we are because of the storm, but our best bet is to sail east and hope we find Cape Town or the African coast at the very least.” The first thought that passed through Zayn's mind was that he'd really enjoy exploring Africa. The second was that it would be a great time to rid himself of this cursed ship and it's mindfucking crew. 

The captain was quiet for the longest time, the cogs clearly turning in his mind. But there wasn’t much choice, really. It was simply a matter of being blunt.

“Right, well,” Liam finally spoke. “Let us weigh anchor and be on our way.”

The mates and lingering pirates dispersed, giving Zayn an open moment to speak to Liam.

“Hello,” Zayn didn’t bother to smile, as Liam didn’t bother look at him.

“Is there something you need help with?”

“Um…I thought maybe you could help with some knots today?” Zayn invited, trying to look deeper into Liam’s mannerisms. His body was turned away and eyes not meeting his.   Maybe Zayn was overthinking it. He let out a light chuckle to hopefully grab Liam's attention and lighten the air between them. “Full carrick knot is still a bitch, you know.”

When Liam stopped walking, so did Zayn. He waited for the captain to say something to him, to tell him that what he said to Louis was just something to get him off his back. There weren’t any pirates around to overhear them. Liam could be honest with Zayn.

But Liam’s eyes stared cold into Zayn’s.

“Listen,” he said, “I’ve got a lot…more important things to do today. Just…Just go see if someone else can teach you.”

And with that, he was gone. One time too many, Liam had a habit of leaving Zayn alone and in his stupid cryptic dust. He decided that once this ship hit land, he was going to be the one to leave Liam baffled and lonely. Then he’d realize how it felt. However, first Liam actually had to care about Zayn and at this point, he wasn't sure if he really did.

Eager for a distraction, he hurried himself over to the boatswain’s quarters. When he opened the doors, Harry’s feet were propped against the desk. His chair was balanced on the rear legs as he leaned back, intently analyzing the record book in his lap.

“Nice to see a familiar face,” Harry greeted with a dimpled smile, reassuring Zayn that he wasn’t being a bother. “What can I do you for, Zayn?”

“Um, well--” he began.

“Say no more. I know all about you and the captain,” he winked. “I saw in both your faces the day you set foot on this ship. Now it’s only a matter of time before you’re both exchanging vows.”

Zayn let out a dry, deadpan laugh.

“What’s wrong? I just saw you this morning trying to sneak out of the captain’s quarters. Rotten job of it, I'd say.”

“I don’t know!” Zayn pulled his hand along his face and through his hair, frustrated. “Last night, he tells me one thing. And then this morning, he tells Louis another, that I’m a fucking distraction. Now he’s off pretending I don’t exist when he _told_ me he cared—“

"I’m going to stop you right there, lad,” Harry removed his feet from the surface of his desk, his chair landing on its front legs with a loud clunk. He leaned forward and continued, “I’ve known Liam for a good seven years now, ever since I set foot on this godforsaken ship. I can assure you that whatever odd attitude you think he’s giving you is just an act. He does that from time to time, putting on this face so that the crew—especially Grimshaw—doesn’t think he’s gone soft. And if not, maybe he’s busy. Storm’s done some damage to the ship, so he’ll be rather preoccupied with fixing her up. I’d recommend you go give him a good chat, but perhaps wait until we reach land. Right now, he’s probably busy making sure the crew doesn’t pull a mutiny on him. Okay?”

“Okay...”

“Good, so did you want to do some lessons? No chores from Niall, I take it?”

“Yeah that’s right,” Zayn affirmed.

“So if my memory serves, we were doing your name yesterday…” Harry pulled out a familiar piece of paper, filled with chicken scratch, otherwise known as Zayn attempting to spell his name. Actually, some of the scribbles were from Harry trying to figure out how to spell it. 

Harry stared intently at the paper, scratching at his head, as if either action would magically give him Zayn’s name in the right spelling. It didn’t help that Zayn had never seen his name spelt. Or if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to read it anyway.

“Why couldn’t you have been born a Roger Jones or something boring like that?” Harry joked. Zayn shrugged, but he loved his name. It was the only thing that reminded him of who he was and where he came form. “Right, well none of these spellings look right. Let’s try sounding them out again until we find one we like.”

What Harry called consonants were easy. They had particular sounds to them that were very simple to pick out. It was the vowels that neither Harry nor Zayn could quite decide on. The letter E and A and I—they all sounded the same to Zayn. After another half hour of writing down names, they’d come up with more variations of Zayn’s name 

ZANE MALEK. ZAIN MELEK. ZEYN MALIK. ZEYN MALYK.

None of them looked quite right to him and he was worried he’d never find the one that did.

~

There was a lingering ache in Zayn’s right hand, a red spot at his forefinger and in his palm where he held the pen. He and Harry had given up trying to spell his name and instead worked on writing whole sentences. His handwriting was hardly as pretty and smooth as Harry’s, but he was able to write and recognize writing, which was all he ever wanted in life.

He could feel the day getting late so he thanked Harry profusely for his patience and time before retiring to the galley, where he expressed the same concerns about Liam to Niall.

“He’s just busy,” the cook echoed Harry’s response. Zayn probably looked like a sad little mess, because once they’d exchanged glances, Niall abruptly put down his mug of ale. “I’ve got something that ought to help you, lad.”

The cook was scurrying about the galley, grabbing whatever ingredients were around and throwing them into a pot. Zayn stood, unsure if he should help or just wait for the result of Niall’s ingenuity. Only when he was done grabbing food would he provide an explanation.

“Liam loves a good salmagundi. There isn’t enough on this ship to make anything fancy, but enough to please the captain—hand me that can of salt, would you?” Niall hand pointed to the tin can sitting just out of his reach. Zayn passed it to him, watching intently as the cook worked his magic, the aroma of salmagundi deliciously infecting the galley.

After some time, Niall gave Zayn a small bowl. It was filled to the brim with meat and vegetables, soaked in a light orange broth with a pair of pickled eggs to the side. Damn Liam. Zayn would inhale the stew in one breath if he weren’t so desperate to win Liam back.

The glow on Niall’s face was enough to give Zayn the hope and motivation he needed. Only on his way to the captain's quarters did he notice the bowl was practically scalding his hands. 

“Hey,” Zayn mustered as he pushed open a heavy wooden door. Liam was standing hunched over a desk cluttered with papers and record books and maps. Alone. Here, he didn’t have to put on a face for anyone. Here, he could be honest with Zayn and tell him that what he said to Louis that morning was just part of that face.

Liam didn’t turn around, didn’t look up.

Zayn cleared his throat, hoping that maybe Liam just didn’t hear him the first time.

“You’ll break your nose if you look any deeper into those books,” Zayn joked, which received no reaction from Liam. One part of him said to _fuck this_ but no. He held onto hope. He laid the bowl on the desk, taking care not to place it on any important documents. “Niall made your favorite salmagundi. Well, as well as he could, given the situation.”

_If he doesn’t say anything, then fuck it._

There was a pause--Zayn was just about to turn and leave--before Liam finally spoke,

“Would you tell Niall that we don’t have the stock to be making special meals? It’s a waste of time and supply,” he said without looking up. Zayn watched for Liam’s typical cues, but his hands weren’t clenched and his jaw was relaxed. He was perfectly honest.

_Okay, so he might have said something, but definitely fuck this._

Without any further attempts at amiability, Zayn marched out of the captain’s quarters, steaming with irritation and defeat. Whatever the hell was in Liam’s head, he didn’t want to give it another thought. If he was putting on a face, then so be it. But Zayn wouldn’t let Liam toy with him in the process.

~

Around late evening, an hour or so well past dinnertime, the galley was still bustling with activity. This was typical, as pirates loved to linger and share stories. One pirate named Red Handed John—a self-proclaimed nickname—was boasting about that one time he was surrounded by uncivilized African savages and how he defeated them all with one hand. Zayn stared on, face dragging on the palm that barely held his head up. He’d heard this story at least a dozen times before.

“Cabin boy!” exclaimed Nick, who took a seat next to him. “You look especially drab today.”

“Thanks,” Zayn grumbled, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t really have time for Grimshaw’s deprecating shit.

“What’s bugging you, mate?”

Zayn turned his head to make sure he was talking to Nick. What did the cocky first mate care what was bugging him?

“Uh, nothing really,” he answered skeptically. “People just bloody suck, that’s all.”

Grimshaw chuckled in agreement, Zayn still put off by the unusual cordiality. The first mate hollered out to someone to get him some rum.

“Make it two,” he added, throwing a smile Zayn’s way.

“Oh, no thanks—“

“Trust me, mate, nothing fixes a lad with the blues better than a cup of red rum,” Nick looked Zayn straight in the eye, “And you definitely need a cup or two.”

Before he could refuse any further, a full mug of rum clunked in front of him. A few red drops splashed onto his bare skin, teasing and tickling at Zayn. He’d only ever drunk in times of desperate need, like when he was feeling particularly down after entertaining a client. He didn't quite like how if he drank more than one cup, he'd turn into one of those pigs he sees roaming the streets of Tortuga at late hours. 

“Okay, well just one drink.” Zayn gave in, raising his mug to Nick’s in toast. “Any more makes me completely useless and I have dishes to do tonight.”

“Screw the dishes, mate! You’re not going to get anything done until we’ve cured that sad sober heart,” Nick chuckled, taking a deep swig of his rum as Zayn followed. The taste was bitter and the liquid burnt at his throat, leaving Zayn whooping and coughing and Grimshaw roaring with laughter. But soon the burn was in his stomach, and in minutes it was in his blood and his head was floating. He had promised himself that he would only have one mug, but quickly, one mug turned to two and two turned to four.

The room wasn’t particularly spinning. It was more like his eyes were too fast and the room was slow to catch up to his vision. He couldn’t wipe his stupid grin from his face, smiling at every little thing that happened, even Grimshaw’s horrible jokes.

_You know, he’s not that bad._ Zayn grinned to himself. _He’s actually quite a nice guy. Wonderful guy. Helping me out with getting over Liam and whatever. What time is it—oh my god, I can smell Red Handed John’s burps from here._

Zayn turned away a little too violently, almost completely falling from his chair. What kept his face from slamming into the floorboards were Nick’s strong hands grabbing at Zayn’s shoulder and waist. Their eyes met as Zayn sat back up. He broke the gaze. This was getting a little weird.

“Why’re you being so nice to me?” Zayn had to ask. The Grimshaw he knew would never be so kind without an ulterior motive.

The first mate paused for a little while, taking a sip of rum.

“Of course you know, Zayn, how much shit the other mates talk about me,” he stated, as if he didn’t needed to wait for Zayn to affirm or deny. It was more of a rhetorical statement. “And it’s not without reason. I’m an ass. I’ll admit it. And every cockish thing I’ve ever done is catching up to me.

“Look at me, I’m a washed up sea dog with nothing to his name. I’ve always been first mate, never captain. Never had my own ship or my own crew—not that anyone would want to work for me. I’ve never amounted to much and it’s too late now to leave this ship and become my own captain. The least I can do to make amends is be a damn nice person. It won’t undo all the shit things I’ve done, but it’s a start,” Nick gave Zayn this small smile. And through his hazy vision, he almost sympathized with the first mate. Maybe they were more alike than he’d thought. They’d both done terrible things in their lives, but Zayn figured he still had time to turn his around. He surely didn’t want to end up like Nick.

What could he amount to if he kept seeing Liam? He didn’t want to be a captain, but Zayn wanted to be more than just the cabin boy or Liam’s personal plaything.

There was a pause between them when Nick begins to lean in, hand at Zayn’s neck. Did he want this? He _was_ drunk, so how could he tell? Maybe just one kiss. All Nick had done that night was help Zayn forget Liam, and one kiss couldn’t hurt.

Actually, Zayn may have been intoxicated, but he could tell a bad kisser even if he was unconscious. Nick’s mouth was much wetter than Zayn would have liked, practically encapsulating his mouth like a whale shark. His tongue was too rough, swinging around and smacking at him with no regards to what Zayn’s tongue was trying to do. He pulled away briefly in search of air, only to see Liam standing at the entrance of the galley.

Zayn pushed Nick away, the heat of embarrassment rising to his face that was already warm with rum.

He had seen him kiss Nick. Zayn wasn’t sure if Liam was going to be jealous. He wanted him to be, but who would be jealous of someone kissing Nick Grimshaw?

“If you two are going to fuck, at least have the decency to do it in your quarters.”

Zayn turned to look at Liam, shocked at the brutality of his words. But drunk, his head was too slow for his eyes, the abrupt turn dizzying him. Liam had left the galley before Zayn could explain.

And as soon as Liam had left, Nick was on Zayn’s neck and at his mouth again. There was an empty taste that, try hard as he may, Zayn couldn’t ignore. He didn’t want to kiss Nick anymore.

When he tried to shove off the first mate, telling him to stop, Nick only persisted harder. Zayn panicked as he noticed that the galley was empty, save for the two of them. He was drunk and even if he was sober, he didn’t think he could fight off Nick. His hands clenched tightly at Zayn’s wrists, his kisses getting more forceful and painful than pleasurable. It triggered Zayn’s memories of those violent clients, how they only took what they wanted, and how he had to let them take advantage of him, no matter how much it hurt.

“Stop—“

“Come on, _Zayn,”_ Nick snarled hungrily.

With all the strength and focus he had in him, Zayn forcibly elbowed Nick off, the first mate stumbling onto the floor.

He burst out of the galley before he could let the first mate say or do anything further. His heart was racing irregularly, his breath fatally short and his head steaming with heat. It was when he heaved the contents of his stomach over the ship’s edge and relieved himself of that poison called rum that Zayn began to feel his head clear a little.

His eyes began to water but he wasn’t sure if they were vomit-induced or if they were because of Liam. Was he nothing more than a sex object? Was that all anyone ever saw him as? He should have guessed that about Nick, that wasn't so surprising. But Liam. Liam was a liar through and through.

Zayn pulled himself onto the ledge of the ship, his feet flattening out at the railing and his arms straining to hold onto the shrouds from the main mast. His legs were still a little bit drunk, and the wind was working against him, but his hands held firm to the rope.

He couldn’t see much through the darkness of the night, and while the ocean was relatively calm, he could hear it roaring beneath him and smashing violently against the hull. Zayn would never jump, but the rush of alcohol and adrenaline felt amazing flowing through his veins.

“What are you doing?!” a voice called out from behind him. It was Liam, but Zayn didn’t dare to turn around. He kept his eyes closed to enjoy the feeling of floating away for a moment longer before a pair of strong hands pulled him from the shrouds. To Zayn’s distaste, he stumbled into Liam’s arms and that musky smell emitting from his coat found its way into his nose.

Zayn wrenched himself away from Liam, tripping over his own legs in the process.

“You’re drunk and climbing the railing? Do you realize how stupid—“

“What do you care?” Zayn snapped. Then he pounced a kiss to Liam, who just as quickly pushed him away. “What is your problem?”

“What’s _my_ problem? You the one who's drunk as fuck and making out with Nick Grimshaw, of all people!”

“Oh yeah, he’s a great kisser,” Zayn lied, hoping to catch Liam stutter with jealousy. But instead he only retorted with more viciousness.

“Are you two together now?” he hissed. “Should I be hearing church bells? Should I be calling you Mrs. Zayn Grimshaw from now on?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn was done with Liam’s shit. He started walking away, the cold breeze was beginning to bite at his bare skin.

“I’m sorry,” Liam called out. As soon as Zayn turned around, he asked, “Did you hear the conversation between Louis and me?”

Zayn stood with his back hunched from the cold, his face expressionless. At this point, he was tired of trying to explain everything to Liam. For once, he wanted him to figure it out on his own.

Liam must have taken Zayn’s silence as affirmation as he continued, “Whatever I said to him, I meant most of it. I can’t just push aside this journey and this crew. The other bit about not caring about you, that’s not true in the slightest. I care about you Zayn, but to Louis and the crew, that’s weakness. I just…can’t afford to be selfish.”

_Shit._ Zayn could feel his insides falling apart again, that same feeling he had when they first met. There was this man who stood so tall but always sold himself short. This man who hid behind a stone face.

No, this was his out. He really was only a distraction to Liam, and he knew that for the good of the crew and the ship, whatever they were had to be stowed away and forgotten. _This_ …this was toxic. But he couldn't stay away from it.

“You can be as selfish as you want with me,” Zayn replied as he gently kissed Liam, the rock of the boat pushing them up against the mast. Liam’s hands were initially spread apart in two parts surprise and resistance but he eventually gave in and gripped at Zayn’s hips, pulling him in closer and tighter. _This can only end in flames_. Zayn knew it but he didn't care. Their lips fit too perfectly, their bodies too magnetized at the hips.

“Someone might see us,” Liam muttered between kisses. Zayn couldn't care less if anyone saw them. Let them see. But the rational side of his mind convinced him to follow Liam to his quarters. For Liam's sake. The doors were barely closed behind him when he couldn't help but shove Liam up against a wall, nearly knocking the breath out of his lungs with another kiss.

His hands ripped at Liam’s clothes while his mouth worked its way along Liam’s neck. There was a particular spot above his collarbone that when Zayn kissed it, Liam's throat hummed a tiny moan. Zayn grinned, as he always loved finding that one place that rendered his partner helpless. 

He then lifted Liam onto his desk, letting the maps and tools clutter loudly to the floor. The momentum caused them to fall back onto the table, and they briefly laughed at their clumsy, half-naked selves.

When their smiles subsided, Zayn gently tugged Liam’s trousers down, never breaking eye contact.

“This time I want to take care of you.”

All he needed was that slight nod to continue, sliding a finger into Liam’s tight hole, rubbing at the same spot that he had done before for Zayn. Liam went insane, moaning with his head thrown back, back arched against the hardwood desk. When Zayn slipped in a second finger, Liam smashed a fist against the desk, nearly breaking the wood and terrifying Zayn with his inhuman strength.

He went back up to kiss Liam, his hard cock brushing up against Liam’s, not quite ready to enter him. Zayn could feel Liam’s feet clench and the muscles of his thighs tightening around Zayn’s waist. _Not yet._ His hands caressed Liam’s dick, playing at the balls, teasing him. Liam was trembling in his fingers. _Not yet._ He kissed at Liam’s neck, right at that spot near his throat.

“Oh my god, just bloody fuck me already!” Liam called out, almost painfully. Zayn looked into his eyes with a smirk. He pretended to miss, “accidentally” brushing his cock along Liam’s thigh, before finally sliding himself in.

Liam threw his head back in ultimate pleasure, Zayn burying himself in his neck as he thrust gently to make sure Liam was comfortable with Zayn’s whole length.

Being inside Liam was a feeling Zayn had never experienced before. He’d been in plenty of men and plenty of men had been inside of him, but there was always this space between the emotional and the physical. The two never mixed, and he never thought they could mix, but he could feel them colliding into fire, into sparks rushing through his veins.

Right then, he didn’t care how they were going to figure out what they were. He didn’t care that they were fucking on a ship with a crew that didn’t want them together at all. They’d figure it out. The universe had their lives intertwined from the very beginning. Why else would Zayn decide _that_ day to stow away on a ship? Why else would he bump into Harry, who would direct him towards this particular ship, that was captained by the same man who told him to leave Tortuga only a few years earlier?

This surging energy, this blinding poison between them was meant to be. Even if it wasn’t, being with Liam made Zayn feel more alive than he ever thought was possible. And there was no way he would give him up without a fight.

**Author's Note:**

> So the way I'm doing this is in "parts." Right now I've got about three planned out with a potential fourth. This first part is going to be exploring Zayn's need to leave Tortuga, Liam's pillaging plans of Spanish ships on the way to the Indian Ocean, and the two's relationship dynamic on the ship as they try to figure out how they know each other (without actually asking, of course).  
> The second part will definitely more explore Zayn's background and how he became a prostitute in Tortuga.  
> The third part will include more tensions among the crew as Zayn and Liam get closer, with a battle sequence between rival pirate ships or something of the sort that ends in a minor character death  
> And the potential fourth part...idk haha, I need to figure out how to end these things.
> 
> I want to give huge thanks to lostie48 and maidenstar for being my betas. This fic probably wouldn't exist without your support. (because my poor low self-confidence in everything I do can always use validation). Also huge thanks to anyone who reads this, even if it's just one person. 
> 
> Chapter titles are heavily influenced by lines from Othello
> 
> update: It's finally done! As done as it can be anyways (hope I didn't "Suzanne Collins circa Mockingjay" the last chapter). I'll be taking a break with the pirate universe (although I do have exciting plans regarding Larry and furthering Ziam and both Zayn and Liam's past, but atm I want to write my other AU ideas that I have!) Anyways, I have been procrastinating writing this chapter, but I promised myself I would get it done by Valentine's Day for y'all :) 
> 
> I hope those of you that have stuck with this clusterfuck of a fic have enjoyed it thus far and honestly huge thank you for sticking with it despite my irregular updating/self esteem spasms. You're all amazing and I'm so glad to have had you guys to read my first fic.


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